


Dirty Designing

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (not by Fitz), (or almost), Accidents, Adorable FitzSimmons (Agents of SHIELD), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Arguing, Awkward Flirting, Class Differences, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Español | Spanish, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feminist Themes, Fights, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Flirting, Fluff, For Science!, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Lab Sex, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, POV Jemma Simmons, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Coital Cuddling, Public Humiliation, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Science Experiments, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Summer Camp, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: When men scoff at seventeen-year-old Jemma Simmons for wanting to enter the science fair at her summer resort, she refuses to be pushed aside. Fellow teen and resident gadget guy Leo Fitz isn't allowed to participate because he's resort staff, so she suggests they team up. She could use a partner, and he could use her status - as long as they can keep it a secret.And maybe it's just the summer air, but the longer they work together, the more it seems like there's something else heating up between them.ADirty DancingAU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youarethelight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youarethelight/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's, [beautiful-unfolding](http://beautiful-unfolding.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> *waves* I was so excited when I saw that I got to be your Secret Valentine, so I hope you like this beginning to your present! It's gonna take me a little while to finish the rest, and I'm sorry about that, but I *do* promise to finish the whole thing. I never leave a WIP on AO3. :-)
> 
> You can find eclecticmuses' stupendous artwork for the final chapter [here](https://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/157502710538/eclecticmuses-heres-a-bonus-gift-for)!
> 
> As this is a movie AU, there will be lines of dialogue from the film sprinkled throughout. Obviously, none of those lines are mine.
> 
> A huge thanks to my beta, MK!

Most seventeen-year-old girls loved summertime. Summer meant days lounging by the lake or strolling through the mall, and, most importantly, time away from schoolwork. The latter was Jemma Simmons’ least favorite thing about summertime; after all, what was an afternoon if she couldn’t spend it learning something new? 

The year was 1963, and, frustratingly, people inevitably looked her askance if she spent too many summer afternoons cooped up in the local library. Sometimes people even recognized her, and it just wouldn’t do for the British Ambassador’s daughter to be so anti-social. This year, however, her father had concocted an excuse to spirit her away from the library for the entire summer, meaning that they wouldn’t need to worry about any unnecessary rumors surrounding her behavior. Fortunately, Jemma had thought darkly, for them. An old family friend was the owner of a luxury retreat in the mountains of the Poconos, and he’d invited the whole Simmons family up there for the duration of its operation. It was all “good folk” up there, he’d assured her father; it would be nice for them all to get away from the hustle and bustle of the nation’s capital.

Jemma had frowned when her father had told them this at the dinner table one evening in before school ended. Even though she hadn’t truly ever been exposed to anyone outside of her family’s influence, the exclusionary implication of “good folk” rankled at her. Any good scientist knew that nothing was ever learned by surrounding oneself with likeminded individuals.

Her qualms aside, on June 1st, the three-person Simmons family made the trek up to the Poconos with almost three months-worth of luggage in tow. When Jemma stepped out of the Embassy’s loaned lemon-yellow Chevrolet Impala, hair tied back with a silk scarf and three soon-to-be overdue library books clutched in her arms, she let out a small huff of apprehension. Unless she were quite mistaken, this summer was going to feel very long indeed.

 

\------

 

“That’s right, follow me!” The dance instructor – a woman with perfectly fluffy blonde hair and a fashionable red dress – clapped her hands to the beat of the song emitting tinnily from the record player’s speakers. A group of guests were all packed in rows into the band pavilion, attempting to learn the merengue.

Jemma felt herself pushed forward by the momentum of the surrounding crowd of eager dance students, her own feet at least three steps behind everyone else. At least she’d ignored her mother’s urgings to wear a dress, and was instead wearing jean capris, a white shirt, and a pink scarf to hold back her hair in the humidity. Having to bother with a skirt along with doing possibly one of the last activities that she’d wanted to do would have been punishment at its most complete. Her parents were dancing elsewhere in the crowd, managing to be only around one step behind the crowd, and she tried not to feel quite as resentful towards the group activity as she wanted to be. They were happy, and all they’d wanted was for her to spend time with them.

At least the weather was beautiful, if humid, the sky clear and treetops bright green. Although the Koenig Mountain House’s huge list of planned activities made it feel a little like a child’s summer camp for grown-ups and their families, it was in a truly breathtaking location. The collection of residential huts was scattered across the grounds, radiating out from the central main activity building and dance hall, all leading down to the large lake. In fact, Jemma had thought to herself as they’d settled into their double-suite hut the night before, if she had access to a whole library, she might actually be quite happy to while a couple weeks away here. (Although she’d been pleased to see that the main building did have a small library, it mostly contained tawdry romance novels and half-used coloring books.)

Before she knew it was happening, the group formed into an unscheduled conga line, Jemma found herself sandwiched between an older man with glasses thicker than her wrist and a middle-aged woman with magenta sandals, and she re-thought her vow not to be annoyed with her parents. As the line made its way out of the pavilion to snake around the fence, the sound of someone stifling a laugh caught her attention, and she twisted her head around to find the source. 

Nearby, a teenage boy with sandy curls was in the midst of pushing a wheeled equipment cart across the grass and toward the main pathway. Judging by the room label on the side of the cart, he worked for the resort, although he seemed to have paused to amuse himself with the graceless dance lesson. Before Jemma could think of a cutting retort of any kind, he was already trudging up the hill, periwinkle tee clinging to his rod-thin back. She couldn’t quite shake the sense that she agreed with him; this was not her preferred choice of a morning activity. Seeing as she hadn’t anyone other than her parents to talk to, however, she hadn’t been able to think of an excuse not to when they’d asked.

Earlier that morning, after breakfast, her mother had tugged her aside, fussed at the loose hairs that had Jemma’s escaped her ponytail, and urged her to try not to seem so condescending.

“You’re just acting a little aloof, darling,” she’d said quietly. “Don’t you want friends?”

Jemma had pursed her lips into a thin smile. It wasn’t that she thought she was better than the other guests her age; she simply found their complete and utter lack of curiosity about the world around them indescribably tiring. Considering her own self-guided extra studies, it was likely that none of them could match her in measurable intelligence, either, but she tried to push that thought aside. Truly, she didn’t _want_ to be arrogant; she just wasn’t sure how to go about making herself more interested in the people around her. Lying had never been her forte, and dumbing herself down was right out. 

If she wanted to survive the summer with any semblance of her sanity left, let alone manage to have some kind of fun, it seemed that Jemma would have to make more of an effort to get to know the other teenagers at the resort past a first impression. As she eyed the handful of teens who had gleefully volunteered for the dance lesson, she wrinkled her nose. That was likely to be something of a challenge.

 

\------

 

The second half of the dance lesson was no more successful than the first, and Jemma walked away from it with no better understanding of how to do the merengue than she had when the lesson started. Despite her distaste about the whole affair, not being able to excel at a task put before her rankled at Jemma’s ego, and she spent the rest of the day feeling rather out of sorts. Her mood was not improved by the behavior of her fellow teenage guests.

When she had mustered up the courage to talk to a group of them – and brainstormed a few innocuous topics of conversation – she overheard them all gossiping about the boys at the resort. Were they cute, did they know how to kiss, would any of them be fun to practice with, had any of them gone “all the way” before, all followed by loud giggling that made Jemma’s eyelid twitch. Withholding a sigh, instead of seating herself next to them, Jemma just continued on, assuring herself that the girls would mellow out in a few days once the excitement of being in a new place wore off. The boys had only seemed even more off-putting, with the son of her parents’ friends having greeted her with a smarmy grin and carried her suitcase to her room without even asking if she’d wanted help.

Instead of socializing, Jemma spent the rest of her day wandering the entire circumference of the lake, experimenting with different solitary reading spots, and wondering, yet again, why she found it so difficult to talk to people her own age. Adults frequently talked about how likable she was; so why didn’t she have more friends? This was, unfortunately, not a new concern. For all her good manners, significant brains, and theoretical likeability, she’d never had any true friends. 

Thanks to her having avoided the resort’s other guests for most of the day, she was ready for dinner long before anyone else, and as the sun – her preferred reading light – was quickly disappearing, she ambled over to the main hall early. As she climbed up the stairs to the porch that surrounded the dining and dance hall, she could hear the pleasant clinking of tableware being set. A deep voice carried over the noise, with the occasional guffaws of listeners augmenting his speech.

“...That’s how you fill the tip jar, and how we get guests coming back year after year. The girls love a little romance. It sells the resort....” 

One of the side doors was open a crack, and Jemma peered around it, curling one hand into the yellow, gauzy layers of her dress. The younger staff members circled Nathanson, general manager of the resort’s entertainments and activities, who seemed to be giving them a kind of pep talk. Some of them were clearly wait staff, but there were a handful of others from various resort departments whose titles she couldn’t quite determine from their outfits – and one of them included the curly-haired boy she’d glimpsed laughing in the dancers’ direction earlier.

In the middle of his sentence, Nathanson trailed off as a smartly dressed Latina woman in a pantsuit and holding a clipboard breezed by him. “We’re not selling love here, Nathanson,” she warned in a thick, Latin American accent, and tossed the group a smile. “Be nice to the guests, that’s all you need to do.” 

With that, she was across the hall and disappearing through the door that led to the building’s main entryway and offices. 

“That’s right, Ms. Rodriguez,” Nathanson called after her, waiting until the door swung shut behind her before turning back to the group. “You all know what girls like. Smile at ‘em, maybe sneak ‘em a poem –” 

“What,” said a distinctly Scottish accent, and Jemma nearly fell over in shock when she realized the voice belonged to that same curly-haired boy, “you want us to write _poetry_ for tips?”

His legs were propped up on a second chair, and he was fiddling idly with a small plastic box that seemed to have a whole host of wires inside. As Jemma squinted at him, she realized it was a radio clock identical to the ones in both her and her parents’ respective rooms.

Nathanson bristled at his question. “If the poetry works –” 

“Roses are red, violets are blue,” the boy muttered drily, to the low chuckles and guffaws of some of the others, “I really need money, so can I date you?”

“And I don’t want _you_ writing poetry,” Nathanson snapped, pointing to the boys surrounding the Scot. “I want _them_ writing poetry. You stick to the lights and your gadgets.”

The boy scoffed and slouched a little lower in his chair. “Not gonna be a problem.”

“Yeah,” taunted an older waiter with jet-black hair and pockmarks on his cheeks, “Fitz wouldn’t know how to talk to a girl if he tried.” 

The Scottish boy – Fitz, evidently – glowered at the other boy but didn’t respond.

“Okay, settle down,” Nathanson said, pinching his nose briefly between two fingers. “Like I was saying, you can give the girls a little romance, but remember – a few looks is as far as it goes. No funny business, no dancing, and keep your hands _off_. These people aren’t here for you idiots to get your grubby hands all over their daughters.”

Fitz made out another disbelieving grumble, and Jemma, nearly forgetting that she was eavesdropping, leaned forward to see if she could get a better view of what he was working on. The rest of the group stood up from their chairs then, and she realized that she was possibly only seconds away from being spotted. Since she was part of the group that they were hoping to woo for tips, she suspected that her eavesdropping would not be appreciated, and she ducked back out of the doorway as quickly as she could move.

 

\------

 

Where the previous night’s evening affair had been quiet, with each family eating as they arrived, the second night at the Koenig’s signaled a start to nightly festivities that would last throughout the summer. This included family dinners accompanied by music, dancing (if people wished), and games. To Jemma’s fascination, the boy apparently called Fitz seemed to be in charge of the evenings’ technical requirements, controlling the multi-colored lights as well as the music selection. In between switching out the records, though, she noted that he spent most of his time sitting at his station in the back corner of the room and looking woefully bored. If anyone came up to speak to him – presumably making a song request – he’d give them a shy smile and comply, and then immediately return to looking anywhere but at the dance floor. 

“Hi, I’m Milton.”

Jemma nearly jumped out of her chair at the sound of someone talking to her, quickly reaching one hand up to slide a finger through her ponytail as if she’d just been fixing her hair rather than staring at the entertainment staff. When she saw the owner of said voice, however, she had to fight to give him a smile rather than a roll of her eyes.

“I know who you are, Milton. We met yesterday.”

“Yes,” said the tall boy with the somewhat oddly shaped head, and Jemma caught sight of the hand he was holding out between them. “But we didn’t _introduce_ ourselves properly and all.” He moved his hand a couple inches closer.

Sighing, she made an effort at a wider smile and gave his hand as brief a shake as possible. “You can call me Jemma.”

“Good to see you again, sweetheart,” said Jemma’s mother from the seat next to her, and Jemma couldn’t help but notice the genuine warmth in her mum’s smile compared to her own.

“You’re spending the summer shadowing your father, is that right?” Jemma’s father leaned back in his chair, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and tapping it on the white tablecloth.

As Milton answered the question, self-importance oozing from his every word, Jemma caught a glimpse of Fitz sneaking out a side door near his workstation, a notebook in his hand. With her curiosity piqued – and an opportunity presented – Jemma pushed her chair back from the table and stood.

“If you’ll excuse m–” 

“Jemma,” Milton said, abruptly far closer to her than she would’ve liked. “I was wondering if I might have the privilege of the first dance with you?” 

Her nose wrinkled instinctively, although she managed to school her expression quickly. “Oh, why – yes, of course. But dessert hasn’t even been served yet –”

“Oh no,” he said, nodding sagely. “You wouldn’t want to miss that. Tonight it’s strawberry shortcake.” 

“ _Oh_ Jemma, darling,” her mother said, patting her arm. “You love strawberries!”

“Yes, Mother,” she said, eyeing the distance to that side door and wondering if Fitz had gone far. He was technically on duty, after all. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some air before dessert comes.”

Fortunately, none of them questioned that excuse, and she was able to speed over to the exit and slip out without further deterrence. Along the side of the porch onto which the door gave way, there was no sight of Fitz. Curiosity egging her on, Jemma tiptoed to the corner of the building and peeked around the other side.

Sitting on a wooden rocking bench was Fitz, head bent over a notebook as he scribbled furiously with his yellow number two pencil. His trainer-clad toes tapped the floor as he wrote, biting his lip in concentration, and Jemma mentally urged him to tilt the book in her direction just enough that she could see what on earth he was working on so intently.

One of the two main entrance doors swung open to reveal Nathanson, face red either from anger or from having one too many beers, and he strode directly towards Fitz. 

“What in the hullabaloo are you doing out here?!”

Fitz whipped his head up, eyes widening at the sight of his boss. “I’m just –”

“Do you think we’re paying you to sit on your ass and daydream? Those records don’t change themselves, you know!” 

“No,” Fitz replied, brow wrinkling as he squinted. “But I’ve got ‘em all memorized, so I know when the last song is –” 

“I did Mack a big favor hiring you back again, you know,” Nathanson sneered as he crossed his arms. “Do you _really_ want to get fired on the second day?”

Jemma could see the way Fitz’s spine stiffened at the unsubtle threat, and he stood slowly from the bench. His hand gripped his notebook so hard it began to bend in half. 

“No, sir.”

“Then get back inside.” With that, Nathanson stalked back into the dining hall.

For a few seconds, Fitz just stood there glaring at the entrance’s double doors, shoulders heaving as he breathed. “Yes, _sir_ ,” he bit out, even though the other man was no longer there, and then spun on his heel to return to the door from which he’d exited.

Unfortunately, he turned so quickly that Jemma had neither time to hide nor the presence of mind to pretend that she hadn’t been watching the entire scene, and so as he turned directly towards her all she could do was stare right back at him. Cicadas sung in the nearby bushes, and a lone June bug faded in and out of sight between them.

“Were those designs?” Jemma blurted, fingers tangling fiercely into her skirt to keep herself from fidgeting.

Fitz blinked, lips parting briefly in surprise before he clamped his mouth shut again. With a few, quick strides, he sped past her and disappeared around the corner and into the dance hall. As he went, he gave his head a sharp shake, and she wasn’t sure if that was a rebuke to her or to himself. 

Letting out a disappointed huff, Jemma crossed her arms and rubbed her cooling skin. If she was going to answer any of her mounting list of questions about this Fitz person, she was going to have to get better at introducing herself. At the very least, she really did have to stop eavesdropping on him.

 

\------

 

The next morning, Jemma was thrilled to see that Fitz was already in the dining hall when she and her parents showed up for breakfast. When she arrived, he was sitting beneath the table that held the light board, a long wire held in his mouth and his hands doing something complicated-seeming to the electronic equipment. Since he was busy, she decided to approach Fitz later, and just followed her parents to their usual table instead. After all, this would give her time to brainstorm better ways to introduce herself.

Once she and her parents had finished eating and other guests had started milling about from table to table, she steeled her nerves, clasped her hands in front of herself, and strode across the hall. Fitz’s feet still poked out from underneath the lighting and record equipment table, and he didn’t seem to hear her when she cleared her throat. Affixing a smile on her face and smoothing out her white shirt – artfully tied just above the top of her jeans – Jemma made sure to speak loudly enough that he could hear her from underneath all those wires. 

“Your equipment is quite large.”

A loud bump sounded from beneath the table, followed by a bitten-off swear, and Fitz emerged with a pained expression on his face. His eyes widened as he saw who had spoken – irises a particularly fetching blue in the morning sunlight – and his mouth dropped open.

“My what?”

Rather abruptly, Jemma realized exactly how inappropriate her opening salvo had sounded, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks. “All this,” she clarified meekly, waving at the gadgetry surrounding him. “These electronics. There’s, I mean, a lot of it. It must be rather complicated to take care of on your own.”

For a brief second, he looked curious, but as soon as she finished speaking, something shut down behind his eyes. He looked away from her, down at the screwdriver and metal contraption he had in his hands, and shrugged.

When he didn’t offer anything further, she squared her shoulders, and stuck her right hand down towards him. “My name’s Jemma.”

After a few seconds, Fitz blinked up at her hand but didn’t reach for it. “Fitz.” 

She wrinkled her nose and withdrew her hand. For all her parents insisted that she was ever so likeable, this Scottish boy in the Poconos didn’t seem to agree. “Is that your first....” 

Before she could finish her question, however, the sound system made a bizarre screech-tapping noise, and the entire room of people cringed. Fitz groaned, pushing himself out from beneath the table and reaching over to fiddle at a few knobs on one of the equipment boxes. 

“I’ve told him bloody time and again to _warn_ me if he’s gonna start talking. Can’t do my job if he doesn’t let me!”

In his haste to reach the equipment, he knocked over a pile of cords and the notebook he’d been scribbling in the night before. The cover fell open practically at Jemma’s feet, and she barely even noticed that the screeching disappeared as she leaned over to get a closer look. She’d been right last night – those were definitely designs. But they were far more complicated than anything she would have imagined or expected, and she found herself reaching out towards the book without thinking about it.

“Wow,” she breathed, “Fitz, these....” 

He snatched the book away, folding it in half and stuffing it in his back pocket. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes as he pushed himself to his feet and frowned out at the front of the dining hall. 

On the stage, Nathanson was bent over a microphone stand, in the midst of removing his finger from where he’d been tapping the steel mesh. “Good moooorning, folks,” he said, raising his hand in a congenial wave. “Hope I caught almost everyone before you head outside for some of that famous Pennsylvania sun!”

The room made a positive-sounding burble back at him, half of the guests apparently confused as to how Pennsylvania could have its own “famous” sun.

Realizing that he was losing his audience – if he’d ever had them to begin with – Nathanson straightened up and returned to business, holding a clipboard of notes in front of him. “First of all, someone seems to have lost their sunglasses by the lifeguard station. If they’re yours, please see Ms. Rodriguez in the main office. Secondly, I know you’re all looking forward to the Summertime Gala our last night here! Who’s excited?” Mostly female voices cheered, and Jemma rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms. More dancing; exactly what this place needed. “That’s what I thought! But boys, you were a little quiet there. Have no fear, we’ve just gotten confirmation that we’ll have something for you that night, too! Any of you like blowing stuff up?” A loud, male cheer went up through the room, and next to her, Jemma heard Fitz scoff.

She turned to him with an arched eyebrow. “Do you _not_ like blowing things up?” she whispered drily, and he turned to her, lips parted in surprise.

“Well, I mean – no, I guess, I do, but that’s not....” Trailing off, he reached up to scratch at his right eyebrow, and she tilted her chin up in victory as she returned to listening to Nathanson.

“...Stark Industries will be sponsoring a science fair for all you young men.” Jemma’s pulse spiked. “One week before the gala, you will submit your project proposals. Three finalists will be selected to present at the gala in front of Mr. Howard Stark himself, and the winner will get two thousand five hundred dollars!”

“Howard Stark,” Jemma breathed at the same time that Fitz murmured the same thing, followed by:

“Two _thousand_ dollars...!”

“Two thousand five hundred,” she corrected, and he let out a small huff of annoyance. 

“Yeah, I do have ears, y’know.”

“Of course,” Nathanson continued, and Jemma would swear that he turned pointedly in their direction as he did, “this is open to guests only. Come talk to me right here, up at the stage, if you’re interested.”

Next to her, Fitz’s whole body seemed to deflate, and he turned to grab angrily at things from his pile of equipment without even looking at her. Jemma bit her tongue, briefly torn about what she should do now. If she hadn’t been mistaken, for those few seconds after the announcement of the science fair, the two of them had nearly been on the exact same wavelength. Since he didn’t seem to have felt the same connection she did, though, she exhaled and sprinted back over to her parents’ table.

As she reached for her own notebook and the advanced chemistry textbook she’d brought to the table for a bit of light reading, Jemma gave her parents a wide grin. “A science fair,” she said excitedly, reaching out to squeeze her mother’s hand before running off down the hall. Behind her, she thought she heard her mother call after her, but she ignored it, determined to be the first person to sign up.

Nathanson stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the stage, conferring with an annoyed Fitz, who kept gesturing impatiently with a thick cable in one hand and the microphone stand in his other. 

“Mr. Nathanson,” Jemma said, slightly out of breath as she skidded to a halt in front of him, books clutched to her chest. “Where can I sign up for the fair?”

The manager stared dumbly at her for a few seconds and then broke into a condescending grin. “You don’t have to sign up to go to the gala, sweetheart –” 

“No,” she cut him off, “the science fair. I want to enter a project proposal.”

“But you’re a girl,” Nathanson pointed out in a way that was clearly supposed to be kind, and Jemma squeezed the edges of her books so hard she thought she might give herself papercuts.

“I knew that already, thank you. Where is the sign up?”

“Here,” he said, tapping at his clipboard. “But you’re a girl –” 

“You didn’t say girls couldn’t sign up for the science fair,” she argued. Mid-sentence, she noticed for the first time that Fitz was staring at her, and she felt her cheeks warm in acute embarrassment. In her peripheral vision, she could see other guests starting to notice her confrontation, and she tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “You just said guests. I’m a guest, and I want to sign up.”

“Look,” Nathanson said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I know it sounds like a picnic and all, but this is Howard Stark. _You_ can’t make something good enough for him.” 

Jemma flipped open her notebook and held it in front of herself, feeling her voice start to waver in sheer fury but refusing to let her emotions compromise her argument. “I have three proposals I could show him today if he were here.”

“Mr. Nathanson,” came a familiar voice from behind her, and Jemma nearly sagged in relief as she turned to see her father strolling towards them. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“Nothing,” the manager responded with an uncomfortable laugh that seemed to be meant to diffuse the tension in the air but served to do nothing of the sort. “Nothing, Ambassador Simmons, just... your daughter wants to enter the science fair.” 

Silence stretched between the three of them as Jemma’s father planted himself next to her, hands held casually in his pockets. The pose was a familiar one to her; he stood like this when he was about to argue with someone. It’s what made him a good diplomat, her mother had told her once – seeming at ease while preparing for political battle. 

“I thought she might,” her father responded, reaching out to pat her affectionately on the shoulder. “She’s always had an analytical mind, my Jemma.”

Nathanson looked nervously between the two of them, and then scooted forward another step. “But, sir – she’s a girl.”

Jemma’s father raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear you say anything about the contest being restricted by gender. But I can always check with Huntzberger. You know, my good friend, the owner of this fine establishment. I’m sure he’ll have an answer for me if you don’t.”

Swallowing, Nathanson gave her father a thin smile. “No, sir, I don’t think there’re any _official_ rules about girls entering.”

As Nathanson tried to turn and slink away, Jemma’s father reached out and grabbed onto the side of the clipboard. “I’d be happy to write her name down for you. Make sure it’s spelled right.” 

With another begrudging smile – although it was wearing into a grimace by the second – Nathanson relinquished his hold on his clipboard. Taking the pen that Jemma handed him, her father quickly jotted down her name, tilting the board to show her that she was listed second on the contest roster. The name that was in front of hers made her nose wrinkle: _Milton Huntzberger_. Of course he’d been allowed to sign up before the contest had even been announced.

“There you go,” her father said pleasantly, handing the clipboard back to Nathanson and giving his daughter’s shoulder a fond squeeze. “Now, I think I’m going to see if I can get another one of those scones from the kitchen. I haven’t had ones like that since we left Sheffield.”

Jemma gave him a watery, grateful smile as he ambled away, and she turned quickly from the crowd that had gathered to watch her humiliation. Even though she’d won – thanks to her father’s intervention – it had just been another stinging reminder that the world detested her for caring about the one thing she shouldn’t: Science. All because of her gender, and for reasons that didn’t seem to be reasons at all. 

As she looked for the nearest exit, Jemma accidentally made eye contact with Fitz, who seemed to have been frozen as he watched the whole debacle. Anger beat furiously in her chest, and she ducked her head as she strode past him, squeezing her books to her chest. Jemma promised herself that come hell or high water, she’d put on the best science fair presentation Stark Industries had ever seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very happy birthday to the wonderful @beautiful-unfolding! I apologize for how long it’s taking me to finish your incredibly belated Secret Valentine present - I promise I’ve been working on it whenever I’m able! With only 5 chapters under my belt, I’m not ready to start posting it regularly yet, but I really wanted to give you something for your birthday - so here’s chapter 2! I hope you like it, and that you have a fantastic day! <3

Jemma Simmons was not a girl who cried willy-nilly. It took a lot to make her teary – like dropping a carefully prepared slide, for example. Or, apparently, humiliating her about her gender and chosen (future) profession in front of a room full of strangers.

Her anger and understandable frustration aside, however, Jemma also didn’t like to wallow. So after spending a few minutes sitting on the edge of her bed, palms pressed hard to her eyes as she willed the tears to slow, she stood up and went about dedicating the rest of her summer vacation to proving every one of those doubters wrong. A quick hunt through her room provided her with all the potentially useful schoolwork (three used notebooks and two binders worth) and textbooks she’d brought with her to the Poconos, as well as her preferred tools of the trade. (For this stage of project development, that included 3 freshly sharpened No.2 pencils, a small sharpener, two ballpoint pens – one blue and one black, five different colored highlighters, a geometric compass, and a ruler.)

Once she had packed everything into her lavender satchel, she swung it over her shoulder and marched directly to the resort’s sole library to see if its four bookcases had anything that might be of use. To her pleasant surprise, she actually found three textbooks – clearly discarded or forgotten during summers past – that might have some useful reference material. After dutifully writing down her name and cabin number in the honor-system register, she wrapped her arms around the new books (her bag was already quite full by this point) and slipped back into the resort lobby.

As it was the middle of the day, the main building was mostly empty except for the staff. This was why Jemma wasn’t paying attention when she nearly walked straight into the person who was exiting the main office. In her surprise, she let out a small squeak and all three of her new books went crashing to the floor.

“Hey there,” said the person she’d just nearly accosted, large hands reaching out to steady her.

Jemma peered up – and up and up – at the tall man with dark skin, and gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m terribly sorry –” she started, crouching down as he did the same.

“No harm, no foul,” he replied, giving her a small grin in return and handing over the two books that had landed closer to his feet. “Didn’t expect anyone to be in the library.”

“Oh, yes, well,” she said, hefting the books into her arms, “I suppose it’s not a popular spot. Bit dusty.” 

The man chuckled as he brushed said dust off on his jeans. “Looks like you found what you needed anyway....” He trailed off, giving her an expectant look, and she smiled.

“Jemma,” she offered, shifting the books awkwardly to the side so she could stick her hand out towards him.

“Mack,” he returned, giving her hand a firm but careful shake so as not to send the books flying again. “I’m in charge of the garage.” When Jemma wrinkled her nose, glancing at the definitely-not-garage surrounding them, he let out a low chuckle. “My wife’s in charge of the resort’s finances. I just brought her coffee.”

“Oh! Ms. Rodriguez,” Jemma said, and Mack nodded. “I didn’t realize she was married.” 

He nodded, tucking his thumbs into his pockets and glancing happily at the office from which he’d just exited. “Going on two years.” Clearing his throat, he took a few steps backwards. “I’ve gotta get back to work, but it was nice to meet you, Jemma. Good luck with your....” Mack trailed off, gesturing at her paraphernalia.

“Science fair entry,” she clarified, and he raised an impressed eyebrow in response. “It was nice to meet you, too, Mack.”

“If you need tools or anything, come on by. But, ah....” Lowering his voice, he stopped moving and leaned back towards her. “Don’t tell the others.”

Jemma nodded, giving him a bemused smile. “Why me?” 

“Don’t see any of them doing research.” He shrugged, holding the door open for her to precede him into the sunlight. “And I’ve always liked the underdog.”

Grinning, she gave him a little half-wave as he started off down the porch in the opposite direction she was going. “I promise I won’t say a word,” she called after him. “I would never give up a competitive advantage.” 

Mack laughed, shaking his head as he strode away and disappeared around the corner of the building. 

With a small exhale, Jemma set off down the porch steps and onto the main resort grounds. Perhaps, she thought happily, she might make friends after all; her parents hadn’t _said_ that her friends needed to be other guests. 

But, that was irrelevant right now, anyway: Jemma had a project to begin.

 

\------

 

For the next few hours, Jemma worked diligently, narrowing down her already extant ideas and trying to figure out which ones she might be able to plausibly pull off in the middle of nowhere with few to no specialized supplies. She took over an entire picnic table, the umbrella fortunately shading her sensitive skin from the harshest late-morning sun. As it always did at home, her work radiated out from her across the table, notebooks flung open and sketches fluttering in the breeze. 

So intent was she on her current concept, in fact, that she didn’t notice that someone had approached her table until he spoke. 

“Is this about olfactics?”

Jemma started at the sound of the Scottish accent, dropping her pencil and banging her foot against the wrought-iron table leg. Leaning against the handle of a dolly full of what looked to be ancient sound equipment, Fitz was squinting approvingly down at one of her most promising concepts.

“Oh, yes,” she said, sublimating the urge to reach out and stop him from flipping back and forth between two pages. 

“A sensor –”

“–To detect the scents –”

“–Like a homing beacon,” he finished for her, eyes lighting up in excitement, the expression transforming his entire face. “That’s brilliant.”

“Yes,” she agreed curtly, tugging the notebook towards her. “It’s just....” Jemma exhaled, tapping her pencil against the design. “It’s not good enough yet. I don’t have a solid idea for a deliverable, _and_ I don’t know where I could possibly get the parts.”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Fitz studied her briefly before plopping down in the chair next to hers. “You’ve got two months, though. Sure you’ll come up with something by then.” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow, still feeling a little piqued at the way he’d brushed her off both previous times she’d approached him. “How do you know that? For all you know, I’m an idiot.”

He stared back at her for a second and then let out a low chuckle. “Alright, guess I don’t _know_ if you’ll come up with something. But I know you’re not an idiot,” he finished, tapping one of her notebooks. “Can tell that just from two seconds looking at these.” 

Fighting the way her lips wanted to twitch up in a smile, she leaned back in her chair. “Then I know that you’re not an idiot either.” When his expression switched to one of confusion, she leaned forward. “Those designs that fell out of your pocket, Fitz, for a jet propulsion –” 

“Oh,” he muttered, turning to stare out across the grounds. “That’s just – nonsense.”

“It’s the most brilliant nonsense I’ve ever seen, then. You’re an _engineer_ , not a disc jockey.”

At that, Fitz laughed, relaxing back against the white painted wrought iron. “I’m actually just a senior in high school – or will be, in September. So I’m not really either.” 

Jemma hummed, regarding him with continually increased interest. “You could be an engine jockey.”

He laughed again, and she felt a little swell of pride that she’d managed to get someone she’d only ever see be grumpy to laugh twice in as many minutes. “I’ll be an engineering student one day, if I can afford it.” 

“Could I look at your designs?” His face immediately fell, and she scrambled to keep from losing his goodwill again. “I’m just curious, I promise I wouldn’t nick them or anything. They looked so advanced.” 

“Wouldn’t really matter if you nicked ‘em for this contest, would it?” Fitz squinted up at the sunlight and ducked back in under the shade. “I can’t enter anyway.” 

“And that would be cheating,” she retorted, “and terribly dishonest.”

“I don’t think a lot of people entering this fair would care about that.” He gave her a wry look. “Not the most upstanding lot, these people.”

“Well, I’m not like them.” She smoothed out a wrinkle in her capris jeans, brows furrowing in thought. “Why aren’t staff allowed to enter? You’d think it wouldn’t matter to the resort who had the chance to impress Howard Stark.”

Something dark passed over Fitz’s face, and he shrugged. Before he could answer, though, a shout rang out across the grounds: “ _Fitz_! _What_ are you doing?!” 

He scrambled to his feet as Nathanson stalked over to them, a streak of sunscreen swiped awkwardly across his cheek. 

“Sorry,” Fitz muttered, cheeks flushing as he grabbed for the dolly’s handle. “Just taking a breather –”

“We’re not paying you for _breathers_ ,” Nathanson snapped. “Or to harass the guests.”

“I asked him to stay,” Jemma piped up, the others’ heads whipping around to stare at her. Fitz’s mouth was wide open in surprise, since they both knew she hadn’t done anything of the sort. “I was wondering what he does with all that equipment every day, and begged him to sit down and tell me all about it.” She gave the resort manager a sickly sweet smile.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat and gave her a brusque nod. “That’s fine. I’ll just...” he trailed off, turning to give Fitz a hard glare. “But don’t take too long. You’re on shift for another hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Fitz muttered, watching with undisguised loathing as his boss bid a hasty retreat across the grass in the direction of the staff residences. “Thanks for....”

Jemma waved off his gratitude. “It’s alright. I’m a bit surprised that went well, actually. I’m really not very good at lying.” As the words left her mouth, she wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure he thinks my fragile female brain isn’t capable of something as complex as lying on the spot.”

Fitz let out a scoff, leaning the dolly back towards himself. “Anyone who thinks things like that,” he said, setting the wheels into motion, “really _is_ an idiot. See you around, Simmons.” 

With that, he headed off towards the resort’s main building, one of the wheels squeaking as he went. Before throwing herself back into her work, Jemma watched him for a few moments, a new and intriguing idea spinning into place in her head.

 

\------

 

After lunch, Jemma spent a good forty-five minutes tracking Fitz down. Something about talking to him had knocked loose her mental block about her project, and she’d spent the better part of midday scribbling those ideas down. Once she made it through as much as she could on her own, she asked every staff member she could find where he might be, until one of them told her that he lived in the misshapen two-story cabin at the edge of the staff residences.

Sure enough, the end cabin stood out like a sore thumb, not quite twice as tall as the others and in need of some serious repairs to its wooden slats. On its ramshackle porch sat Fitz, sneakered feet propped up on a railing that seemed to be held up only by thick twine rope and a lot of wishing. He was busily twisting a screwdriver into the innards of another clock radio, brow furrowed and tongue just barely poking out between his teeth as he worked.

Squeezing her newly designated project notebook to her chest, Jemma squared her shoulders and marched up to the cabin. “We should be partners.”

Fitz fumbled the screwdriver, managing to catch it with his other hand before it clattered to the floor, and blinked up at her. “Simmons! You – what?”

“For the science fair.”

Still apparently nonplussed by her presence, Fitz straightened on the wooden bench and scratched at the back of his neck. “I – we talked about that, I can’t enter –” 

“But I already have,” she said, attempting to feign patience. “So you wouldn’t need to. We could just keep your involvement a secret until the very end, and then I could ‘clarify’ that you’re my partner. I read the rules from cover to cover, it doesn’t say whether or not staff could compete when partnered with a guest.” His mouth gaped open rather like that of a fish, and she pursed her lips. “And considering the response to me wanting to sign up, let alone win, I suspect that they might take me more seriously if I had a boy by my side.”

At that, he let out a loud, incredulous noise of distaste. “What –”

“I’m brilliant,” she continued, anger thrumming through her arms at just the thought of needing to admit this out loud, “but most people can’t see past the petticoats to the brain underneath.” 

Fitz’s look of incredulity switched abruptly to one of confusion, and then he squinted. “Petticoats don’t cover brains. And you’re not wearing any.”

Jemma let out a huff of annoyance. “It was a turn of phrase!” 

“Do girls still even _wear_ petticoats –?”

“Fitz!” He snapped his mouth shut, looking sheepish. “Do you want to be my partner or not?” 

Exhaling, he wrinkled his nose in thought. “But I couldn’t take credit for your work –” 

“And I’d smack you if you did,” she tossed back, and he arched an eyebrow in amusement. “But just having you there will give me a certain... authority that I _apparently_ lack on my own.” She sighed, giving him an exasperated roll of her eyes. “I’m being realistic, Fitz. I don’t like it – actually, I bloody _hate_ it, but it’s the truth.” 

Silence hovered between them for a few moments as he considered her offer. “And the prize money –”

“We’d split it, of course. Fifty-fifty.”

His eyes drifted, a breathless smile twitching up his lips. “That’d pay for almost two _years_ of school, even at....” Blinking, he looked back up at her as if he’d just remembered that she was there. “Why me? We don’t even know each other.”

Jemma offered him a tentative smile. “Well, isn’t that what summer camp’s for?”

Fitz let out a surprised laugh, shook his head, and pushed himself off of the bench, gingerly setting his clock and screwdriver in his place. “Alright,” he said, sticking his hand out in front of himself, “partners.”

Grinning widely, she unwound her fingers from the spiral edge of her notebook and grasped Fitz’s hand. “Partners.”

 

\------

 

Nothing could dampen Jemma’s mood after that, not even discovering that a gaggle of girls had invaded her chosen work area. At least they hadn’t paid any attention to the umbrella-covered table, instead circling the lawn chairs nearby on the grass and leaving her to spread out her books as she pleased. 

She had sat next to Fitz on the steps of his porch for quite some time, both of them forgetting in their excitement that there was a bench available. They could barely get whole sentences out, both of them brimming with ideas for the project and its presentation in front of Howard Stark. Eventually, though, at the sound of another staff member’s cabin door closing somewhere in the distance, it occurred to her that them being found together by Fitz’s cabin might be misconstrued. So, after setting up a meeting time and place following Fitz’s first shift tomorrow morning, she bid him farewell. As she strode off across the grass, she glanced over her shoulder and just barely caught her new partner doing a small, celebratory fist-pump. Her smile didn’t leave her lips for hours.

Something about being around Fitz – his initial grumpiness notwithstanding – just sort of clicked in a way that it never had with anyone else. To her relief, at least in the short term, he seemed just as interested in her proposed idea as she was. Best of all, he had a couple more textbooks that he seemed _excited_ to lend her overnight. As far as she was concerned, that was the mark of a true friendship in the making. Perhaps, even, her _first_ true friendship.

As Jemma began to read and take notes on the first book, cheerfully ignoring the others’ chatter, she completely lost track of time. In her peripheral vision, a shadow slid across the table’s wooden boards, encroaching on her workspace. 

“Wowie, Jemma. You’re a real busy lil bee.”

Her nose wrinkled in spite of herself, and she had to force a neutral smile onto her face as she looked up at Milton. He was wearing a ridiculous tennis outfit, knee-high socks, visor, and all, and she had to stifle a laugh at the sight. 

“Yes,” she said thinly, casually moving to slide a textbook over so that it covered a key page of her notes. “Well, there’s a lot of work to do, so....” Glancing back down at the page she’d been reading about animatronics, she hoped he would take the hint.

He did not. “It’s just _swell_ outside,” he said, waving one air at the sky as if she couldn’t see it for herself, “I couldn’t make myself stay away!” 

“I agree. That’s why I took my work outside.” 

That seemed to stump him. “I bet your project’s gonna be just great. You’ve got a real brain under that pretty face.”

Jemma’s smile thinned. “I should hope so. Otherwise basic functions like breathing would be rather difficult.”

Milton laughed, and she tried to hide her wince at the uncomfortably equine sound. “You’re a hoot. Are you gonna dance after dinner tonight?”

“Oh,” she said, eyes straying once again to her work, “well, I’m not sure. I might be quite tired by then, spending all day in the sun....” Near the sun while she got to know her fascinating new partner would be more accurate, but if Milton didn’t correct her, she wouldn’t start.

“Aw, sure, I bet. I’ll let you off the hook this time,” he said, giving her a faux-sympathetic smile, “but I’ve gotta dance with you at least once a week. You’re so good at it!”

“Thanks, Milton,” she said drily. “But if you don’t mind, I’m –” 

“Sure, sure, sure.” He held his hands up in submission and began to back exaggeratedly away. “Wouldn’t want to stifle that genius!” With a large flourish, he turned around – and collided with the end of one of the plastic lounge chairs. Catching himself ungracefully on the edge, he stammered an apology to the seated girls and then strode off across the grass, puffing his chest out self-importantly as he went. 

Jemma rolled her eyes and propped her book back up on the table for easier reading. The group of girls giggled as he left, their chatter fading in as she tried to focus on this section about electric impulses. Although she had met many of the girls on the first night, she wasn’t familiar enough with their voices to pick any of them out... and she’d promptly forgotten most of their names, anyway. (A small voice in the back of her head tried to convince her to attempt to remember, but she pushed it away.) 

“Martha, he’s just your type –”

“Omigod _no!_ ”

“You said sporty!”

“That was _not_ sporty.”

“ _Thank_ you!” 

“C’mon, he’s kinda cute.”

“He’s nowhere near on my list.”

“I’ll take him if no one else wants him! I wanna be rich when I grow up.” The group burst into laughter, a few of them poo-pooing the girl’s joke.

“I just really wanna have a guy before the summer’s out, y’know? All the guys at my school are bust.”

“Virginity’s a social construct,” intoned someone else, and the group followed with giggles and shushes.

“Someone’s read _The Feminine Mystique_.”

“Uh, everyone should read it. It’s _amazing_ –”

“I heard it’s all the rage at Smith.”

“Look, it’s just good practice! That’s what my sister says. I’m gonna fall in love one day, and I want my husband to be good and satisfied. It’s important for a healthy marriage.” 

“What if you fall in love this summer?” another girl teased, and more than one girl laughed derisively.

“With this bunch?”

“Some of the staff’re cute. And _older_.” 

“My sister said it’s always better with older guys.” 

“Whoever it’s with, I just want somebody. No chance of gossip here, ‘cause I’m never gonna see any of you again!” 

The whole group erupted into laughs, horrified _no_ ’s, and promises of eternal friendship. At her table, Jemma let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. Considering that having sex with anyone was the farthest thing from her mind at this moment, she _really_ had to get better at tuning out their chatter.

 

\------

 

For her first true work session with Fitz, Jemma had made sure to wear the most practical clothes she’d brought to the resort. Jeans, a baby pink button-down shirt, red Cons, and a daisy-patterned scarf as a headband to complete the ensemble. At her side was her satchel, filled to the brim with her supplies and books, the ones she’d borrowed from Fitz clutched to her chest.

The familiarity of her outfit and accouterments notwithstanding, she felt oddly small and shy as she peeked her head around the gaping entrance to the garage. What if Fitz decided he couldn’t stand working with her? What if she decided she didn’t like working with him? What if she asked too many questions, or didn’t know enough about mechanics? What if he tried to take over the whole project, and she had to cut him down to size? 

Giving her head a quick shake, Jemma squared her shoulders and stepped across the cement threshold. She’d never know the answer to any questions at all if she kept standing out there alone.

The workshop was at the opposite end of the cavernous space, the whole building feeling oddly grand for a resort whose activities didn’t seem to be geared to driving. Then again, she didn’t know how to drive and didn’t have a license; perhaps the adults were taking jaunts around the surrounding countryside during the day. In fact, there seemed to be floor spaces where cars were absent, supporting that hypothesis.

As she made her way towards where a few people worked on engines, Jemma relaxed at the sight of a familiar face: Mack’s. 

He had just stood from a workbench, and his eyes lit upon her slight figure as she tried to appear more confident. “Jemma! Taking me up on my offer?”

“Oh, well...” she trailed off, nose wrinkling. “I suppose, sort of, but not – I’m looking for Fitz? He said to meet him at the garage,” she said, interrupting herself with a quiet chuckle, “but this is a bit bigger than I was expecting.”

Mack grinned and tucked an oil rag into his jeans pocket. “Didn’t know you two’d met. C’mon, he’s looking through the scrap pile.”

Turning, he gestured for her to follow, and she hurried to stay even with him. There was no question of her matching his stride, but at the very least she could keep up – with two steps to his ambled one. As she went, she gazed with wide eyes at the work being done around them. Professional-looking mechanics wearing newly pressed but grease-stained coveralls were doing work that seemed to be far more intricate than a normal car would require. He led her through a doorway in the corner of the garage, and she had to hop to keep up, having gotten distracted by the intriguing welding being done at a workstation nearby.

“This looks like quite a bit different than a regular garage,” she prompted, glancing up at Mack as he showed her through another doorway into a traditional-looking office space.

Raising an impressed eyebrow, he nodded. “Mr. Huntzberger likes to race top-of-the-line cars – s’how he knows Howard Stark. They compete once or twice a year on a track near the resort.” He let out a low chuckle. “And their cars aren’t... regulation. If y’know what I mean.”

“Is that why you’re here? At the resort?”

“Yeah. I know a thing or two about cars, so –”

“A thing or two,” came a familiar, dry Scottish voice through a nearby archway to the outdoors. As Jemma stepped onto the dirt beside Mack, Fitz poked his head around a large metal dumpster. “You’re an engineer, Mack.”

Mack shrugged, ignoring the way Jemma’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I prefer mechanic.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Fitz explained to Jemma, ignoring Mack’s exasperated exhale. Arms filled with scrapped parts and bared skin streaked with grease, Fitz stepped out to face them. “But he’s brilliant. He doesn’t need this job, either, he owns two custom car shops and makes enough each year to buy this entire bloody resort, too.”

“Then why on Earth would you work _here_?” Jemma blurted, cheeks flushing as she realized how negative she sounded about the resort.

Shaking his head at Fitz, Mack turned towards the doorway they’d just exited. “Love’s a funny thing.” When Jemma wrinkled her nose in confusion, he stopped her forthcoming question by adding an explanation. “Elena likes it up here. And I wouldn’t like being separated for three months a year.” He raised a hand in farewell to them both, and then disappeared into the building. 

Jemma couldn’t help the little coo she let out in response, turning back to Fitz. “That’s quite romantic.”

Fitz let out a low scoff, stepping forward to pile parts into her arms. “If I could afford to leave this place, I’d go in a second.”

“Not even for love?” she teased, hefting the machinery against her chest and balancing it with her books. 

“ _Definitely_ not for love,” he retorted. With a low grunt, he lifted himself up along the edge of the dumpster so that he could keep rummaging through the garage’s scraps. “Nothing’s ever gonna be more important than my inventions.” 

Jemma rolled her eyes and stepped forward to better see what he was doing. His intelligence and fair-mindedness aside, Fitz clearly was no more interested in romance than other boys their age.

Fortunately, of course, romance had absolutely nothing to do with their partnership.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for this chapter goes to [marvelthismarvelthat](https://marvelthismarvelthat.tumblr.com), who graciously spent a lot of time working with me to translate Elena’s Spanish dialogue! I am incredibly grateful to her for all her help. <3

Within the span of one day – give or take a few short hours – Jemma’s summer went from stultifying to nothing short of thrilling. As much as she already adored her scientific studies, she had never had a partner like Fitz before. Brilliant though she knew herself to be, having someone to bounce ideas off and bicker with while she studied, theorized, or experimented made the whole process at least twice as invigorating as it had been alone. And Fitz himself complemented her to a T, his own ideas either melding perfectly with hers or venturing in a new and intriguing direction. Working beside him seemed to provide the last piece of a puzzle that she hadn’t realized was missing. 

Jemma’s original project had been based upon the concept of tracking scents in order to locate something, rather like a technological bloodhound. Although this could have a multitude of real-world uses, for the contest she decided to create something on a smaller scale with a concrete use. The goal was to manufacture a device that could help people locate commonly lost items – house keys, favorite pens or jewelry, or even loose socks. What had her stumped was the object itself; although she’d been relatively confident that she could invent the olfactory tracker, the other half of the idea had eluded her. Fitz’s contribution was to suggest that they create an ambulatory robot dog that could locate the missing item or items, building upon his own expertise in robotics. (And, apparently, his avid love of dogs.) Their presentation would create quite a stir – and be adorable to boot.

The idea’s feasibility was far from assured: Jemma had never successfully tracked anything by scent markers before, and melding that with a functional, autonomous robot would tax both their skillsets beyond what they’d ever accomplished individually in school. As the days passed and they continued to work seamlessly together to improve their designs bit by bit, she felt increasingly confident in their work.

Hiding their collaboration was almost more difficult than the work itself, as Jemma’s parents inevitably noticed that she was often nowhere to be found during the daytime. After a few days of skirting the subject entirely, she landed on confessing that she’d befriended one of the resort’s staff and pointed Fitz out at dinner. The excuse of friendship seemed to mollify her parents, although her mother did make a few wistful comments about how nice the other _girl_ guests at the resort seemed. Her father eyed Fitz with the faint, pointed suspicion of a protective parent, but made no further comment on the subject. Jemma was quite certain that the absence of gossip column reporters from the resort guest list ensured her parents’ relative calm about the news. Only at an isolated summer camp could the daughter of an ambassador get away with befriending the help.

Although this meant that she had to seem to be working on her project alone from time to time, her and Fitz’s feigned friendship provided the perfect cover for their collaboration. After a week or so of working companionably together, Jemma thought that the tall tale might not actually be much of a lie after all. In between brainstorm sessions or design discussions or theorem arguments, they actually talked easily with each other, too. And laughed. And teased one another. And found that they had a whole host of interests in common aside from their mutual penchant for the scientific discipline. Fitz was still reluctant to open up about his family, but she thought that if she could earn his trust, one day he might. Besides, if earning his trust entailed being his friend first, she was very happy to make that trade.

Before long, Jemma would spend most of her time away from Fitz thinking about him, and generally never wanting to be without him. The instinct was foreign to her yet felt as natural as breathing. For his part, Fitz put up with her following him around, and the longer they knew each other, the less guarded he became. Occasionally, she thought he actually seemed excited to have her trailing after him as he worked on the tasks for which he was actually paid.

Fortunately, his living quarters and the resort’s sprawling grounds allowed them ample space to work away from prying eyes. Sometimes she was able to convince him to venture out to abandoned alcoves alongside the lake, but most often they worked in Fitz’s cabin. Thanks to the building’s disrepair, he lived there alone, but the space was ginormous for one teenage staff member. His bedroom was on the second floor, leaving the downstairs to become a workshop for his miscellaneous gadget repairs. He had long since removed any normal furniture and installed workbenches, shelving, and two large tables. Everything was a little worse for wear, as he’d evidently pulled things together from local dumpsters or when Mack discarded something from the garage, but somehow that made it seem all the more dear to Jemma. Each surface was clean as could be and organized in such a way that she hardly ever needed to ask him where anything was kept. His system made sense to her right away – it was as simple as “b is for blue is for biological,” which she completed for him halfway through his first explanation.

Eventually, however, they needed some help that they couldn’t scrounge up on their own. As was to be expected for a project of this nature, they had to solve a fair amount of complex equations, and Jemma became frustrated with how much of their time that seemed to be taking. It was an important part of the scientific process – but a tedious one. To her frustration, she had left her brand new [Sharp Compet CS10A](http://www.vintagecalculators.com/assets/images/SharpCS10A_2.JPG), one of the world’s very first consumer calculators, back at home, and she was ruing the decision to forego bringing it with her. Until, that is, she realized that the resort very likely had its own. Any good finance officer at an expensive resort such as this would surely have purchased a calculator the second they had become publicly available. 

So, after a frustrating afternoon of checking each other’s calculations during their third week of collaboration, Jemma suggested that they approach Mrs. Rodriguez and ask if they might borrow her calculator from time to time. More specifically, if they might use it the following day – the two of them kept getting different answers for one equation in particular, and there was just no going forward without a definitive answer.

That night, Jemma insisted, was the perfect time to catch Mrs. Rodriguez without bothering her while she was working. The resort was having a barbeque instead of the usual formal sit-down, and as such, there would be an opportunity to catch her after hours. Although Mrs. Rodriguez (and her husband) were high enough on the resort staff hierarchy to warrant them having two reserved seats in the dining room every night, they never attended. Fitz had assured Jemma that Mack wouldn’t miss a barbeque, however, so hopefully his wife would be nearby.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until after the meal was finished that Jemma could escape from her parents – and making stultifying conversation with Milton, who insisted on agreeing with and complimenting her every other sentence, no matter the topic. As such, once she had found Fitz, whose shift had been truncated without the indoor entertainment system to operate, it took them more time than anticipated to find someone who had seen either husband or wife recently. At last, one of the wait staff pointed them in the direction he’d only just seen Mrs. Rodriguez go. With most of the guests scattered through the grounds and therefore not paying the two of them any attention, Jemma and Fitz headed off across the resort side by side.

Although dark had long since fallen, with laughter in the distance and lanterns strung along the pathways, Jemma decided that the resort was actually rather pleasant at night. As they strode together along an empty pathway, Fitz was silent, but this didn’t bother her. She was fairly certain he was going through his calculations from earlier in his head, still grumpy about their disagreement.

A wooden bridge walkway split the path between the main grounds and the staff buildings, lights from the largest non-residential building shining on the worn paint. As Jemma stepped onto the bridge, she squinted between the shadowed dwellings in front of them. “Where do you think she would be?” she asked, half to herself and half to Fitz.

His footsteps clunking on the wood next to her, Fitz shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Dunno.” 

Busy thinking, she slowed her steps and leaned one hand on the railing. “Do you –”

She broke off on a scream as the rail crumbled beneath her hand, sending her tumbling into the creek below. Rain in the days before had filled the normally anemic stream to the brim, but as Jemma crashed into the water, her head knocked hard into something along the side, stunning her and stunting her reaction. 

As she tried to push up from the bottom of the creek, hands fumbled at her torso, scrabbling at her arms and waist to drag her bodily from the water and onto the shore. Breath seared her throat, water having gone down the wrong way, and she turned to cough onto the muddy rocks.

“ _Ay Virgen, están bien? Ese cabrón puente de mierda, le he dicho a Nathanson que lo tiene que arreglar como un millón the veces. Voy a matar a ese muchacho cuando lo vea. Escupe toda esa agua, mijo.”_

Loud hacking came from somewhere behind Jemma, and, wiping her own mouth with the back of her hand, she turned haltingly over to see Mrs. Rodriguez thumping Fitz’s back as he coughed onto the grass by her feet. At Jemma’s movement, the older woman lifted her head and scooted closer to her. Reaching for Jemma as she let out a few extra coughs, Mrs. Rodriguez helped hold her upright.

“ _Ahí bien, sigue escupiendo. Es mejor que no traguen nada, los niños se pasan meando en el arroyo cuando piensan que nadie los esta mirando._ ”

Jemma wasn’t sure what she was saying, but her voice was reassuring nonetheless. “T-thank you,” she managed to eke out at last, and the older woman let out an incredulous _tsk_.

“I didn’t do anything. You’ve got _el niño maravilla_ to thank for that.” When Jemma frowned up at her, Mrs. Rodriguez smiled and reached over to whack affectionately at Fitz’s shoulder where he’d collapsed onto his back on the ground, still sucking in heaving breaths. “I got here just as Fitz dove in to get you out.”

“Oh,” Jemma whispered, eyes widening as she stared at her friend. It had all happened so fast, she hadn’t realized that the hands grabbing desperately for her had been his. In retrospect, she noted that Mrs. Rodriguez’s clothes were mostly dry, even if her trousers were slightly muddy. Fitz didn’t look over at them, instead scrubbing one hand over his eyes and leaning forward to shake out his wet hair like a dog. 

“Okay, _vámonos_ ,” Mrs. Rodriguez said at last, pushing herself to her feet and reaching down to help Jemma up. “Let’s get you both dried off, _sí_? Come with me.”

“It’s okay,” Jemma started, wrapping her arms around her chest and watching as Fitz pushed himself ungracefully up. “I can just g-go back to my c-cabin....” 

“ _No seas boba, mija_ ,” the other woman said, waving one dismissive hand back in her direction before she began shepherding Fitz up the slope. “It’s cold out.”

“But we –”

“Could catch your death.” Mrs. Rodriguez’s tone as she cut off Fitz’s protest stopped either of them from continuing, and he reluctantly met Jemma’s eyes as she shuffled up alongside him. “ _Ahora muévanse_.”

With another reluctant glance at each other, Jemma and Fitz trailed after her, following as she walked them around the side of the nearby main building. Mrs. Rodriguez ushered them through a door and into a back hallway that led to two bathrooms and the kitchen. Normally, the long, squat building was used for staff meals, but there was loud music coming from the main room now.

“Sit,” she instructed them, handing over two folding chairs that she pulled away from a pile in the corner of the hall. “I’m going to get you towels.” Once they were each holding a chair, she spun on her heel and strode towards the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Jemma said, her voice still somewhat hoarse, and the older woman stopped in her tracks with a burst of laughter. 

“ _Padre Santísimo_ , call me Elena, please,” she said with a grin. “That name makes me feel so old.” And then she was out the door, speeding past the window towards the residential cabins.

Silence reigned between Jemma and Fitz as they settled themselves into their chairs – silence, anyway, underneath the thrumming music on the other side of the wall. A strong shiver ran through her whole body, and she tipped her head to look at him. His brows were furrowed, one thumb worrying at the center of his other palm. 

“Thank you, Fitz,” she said as quietly as she could manage and still be heard under the music. 

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Wasn’t anything.”

Jemma made an indignant little noise. “What, saving my life isn’t anything?” 

“No,” he blurted in response, eyes widening as he turned to stare at her. “I would – I mean, wasn’t anything to thank me for. Anyone else’d do the same.”

“They would not.” She gave him a soft smile and bumped his shoulder with hers. “You’re a hero.”

Fitz let out a low snort, but she caught the way his lips tilted up as he stared down at his hands. “Barely a few feet of water.”

“But I hit my head,” she retorted, and he whipped his gaze back up to hers. “I’m not sure I could’ve –” 

“What? Are you okay?” His left hand reached up behind her, and then he hesitated, looking worriedly between his hand and her head. 

“I’m fine,” she assured him, and reached up to wrap her fingers around his wrist and tug his arm back down again. “But I don’t know if I could’ve gotten out of the water without you.”

“Oh.” Fitz blinked down at where she was still holding onto him, and then shrugged again. “S’alright.” Squinting, his eyes drifted back to her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to get that looked at, or...?”

Rolling her eyes emphatically, she sighed. “Would it make you feel better to check?”

Although the light in the hallway was dim – other than the occasional multicolored beam that slid across the floorboards – she was fairly certain his cheeks were reddening. With a little shift in her seat, she turned so the back of her head was to him and waited. After a few seconds, she heard his chair hinges squeak and then felt fingertips gently skimming through the top of her hair. 

“Where...?”

“Here,” she said, reaching around to tap next to where his hand hovered and then winced. “It’s a bit sore, but it’s fine.” 

His fingers moved her hair slightly, and she thought she felt the ghost of his breath along her neck. “Yeah, it’s... I mean, I don’t see any blood, so....” 

“So I’m fine.” Jemma turned to give him a light smile, and Fitz nodded when she studied his expression.

“Okay, right, good.” His gaze dropped to his lap again, and she felt a bit baffled by his strange bout of shyness. This was a boy who had begun bickering with her within hours of their first day of work. His grouchiness-related initial muteness aside, he rarely withheld his thoughts about anything.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to be confused for long because voices just outside the door distracted her. Through the window, she could see the silhouettes of Elena and Mack in the reflection of the building’s lights. 

“... A sign or something, Mack, _es peligroso_ –” 

“Yeah, I’ll go right now. _Hell_.” 

“I _told_ him – I told him _mil y una vez que el puente estúpido ese_ needed to be fixed, but he never listens! We have the budget –”

“I know.” Mack’s large figure stepped forward and bent over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “I know. Thank God they’re okay.” 

“Lucky thing your boy has a hero streak miles wide.” Her voice was simultaneously teasing and weary, and she gave her head a brief shake. 

The music got louder briefly, drowning out the last of what they said before Elena turned away from her husband and opened the door to join them in the hallway. Striding over, she handed them each a large beach towel, which she insisted on wrapping around both their shoulders – and using one hand to squeeze some of the water out of Jemma’s ponytail. After making sure they were both wrapped up, she beckoned them to follow her around the corner, insisting that they drink something warm before heading back across the resort. 

Muttering things in Spanish that seemed angry – Jemma assumed about the bridge, but possibly Nathanson – Elena led the way, with Fitz and Jemma shuffling along after her. Being inside had helped warm Jemma up considerably anyway, but the fuzzy towel felt good against her bare shoulders. As the three of them rounded the corner to the kitchen and passed by an open double doorway, she caught a glimpse of what was going on inside the main room and stopped short, causing Fitz to bump straight into her back.

“Simmons, wha....”

But the question trailed off as his gaze locked onto the same sight that had her own eyes widening in shock. Jemma had assumed that there was some sort of party going on in there, but this was dancing like she’d never seen before. Men and women, boys and girls, from every step of the resort staff’s hierarchical ladder and of every skin tone, were moving sensually together as if there was no one else around. The air was hot and thick, sweat glistened on entwined limbs, and Jemma couldn’t move her eyes from the dancers’ hips. One woman draped herself backwards over her partner’s arms, letting him hold her waist as their hips continued to undulate together. 

Blinking, a blush rising to her cheeks, Jemma darted her eyes away, gaze landing unintentionally on Fitz. He, too, was staring at the spectacle before them, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. The thought flitted into her head that somewhere beneath his prickly exterior, she wondered if he’d ever be capable of something like _that_.

“Where did... _oh_ ,” Elena said, coming up behind them. Both Jemma and Fitz jumped in place, turning to see the older woman’s amused grin. “Discovered the dirty dancing, hm?”

Tugging her towel tighter around her shoulders, Jemma ducked her head and took a few steps forward to catch up with Elena. “I didn’t...” she started, licking her lips as she tried to form the sentence without sounding horrendously naïve. “I didn’t know people _did_ that. In front of... other people.”

Elena let out an amused noise of agreement. “Well, it’s not really _algo que me encante_ , but it helps them... how do you say?” She reached for two takeaway cups, a crease deepening in her brow as she thought. “Cut loose.” Rolling her eyes, she handed them each a cup and reached for the kettle of boiled water that she must have set up when they hadn’t followed close enough behind her. “And they do it in dresses, too. I _hate_ dresses.”

Instinctively, Jemma wound her unoccupied hand into the fabric of her own skirt. Although she usually wore jeans during the day, her mother would certainly send her back to her room if she ever wore anything other than a dress or a skirt and matching shirt to dinner – even if it was barbeque night.

“Bit obscene,” Fitz muttered against the rim of his hot water. 

“I don’t know,” Jemma found herself saying, eyes drifting back down the hallway. “It looks... well, fun, I think.”

“Fitz could’ve come any time he wanted.” Elena leaned against the doorway, a distinctly wry tilt to her mouth. “But Mack said he doesn’t like dances.”

“I don’t,” Fitz shot back. “They’re boring.”

As she sipped the scalding water, Jemma wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not really allowed to be here, am I? Because I’m a guest.”

Elena’s grin wilted slightly. “Technically, guests are allowed everywhere on resort property. But... I don’t think they’d like you being here, no.” She shrugged and pushed herself away from the wall. “As long as you’re with Fitz, or someone from the staff, and you don’t tell anyone, it would probably be fine.”

“You couldn’t pay me to go in there.” Fitz’s shoulders were hunched over as he avoided making eye contact with either of them, and Elena let out a low laugh.

“One day, _mi niño_ ,” she said, scrubbing her hand briefly through his hair before he ducked away from her touch, “you’re going to meet someone who’ll change your mind about that.” 

Fitz glanced at Jemma and shrugged his towel even higher on his shoulders as he followed Elena, prompting a small grin to spread across Jemma’s face. She rather liked the resort’s chief financial officer.


	4. Chapter 4

After acquiring permission to borrow the Sharp Compet, Jemma and Fitz’s work continued to steadily progress. Their days had mostly settled into a productive routine – occasionally, however, there was deviation from the norm. 

One such day, Jemma twisted her fingers nervously into the dandelion yellow of her skirt as she stood on the small porch of her family’s two-suite cabin, and glanced furtively around the otherwise deserted residential area. At her feet, Fitz fumbled with the wires he’d just grabbed from his workshop, reshaping them.

Most of the guests were currently busy at a lunchtime performance organized by the merengue class (that Jemma had summarily quit after her first morning at the resort), and she’d snuck off to meet Fitz and start work early. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten her cabin key with her mother and didn’t want to draw attention to herself by sneaking back into the pavilion to retrieve it – but she really needed her notebook.

“Hurry up,” she whispered, and he rolled his eyes.

“No one’s gonna come over here. C’mon, I can teach you.” Ignoring her small huff of protest, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her gently down so she was kneeling next to him. When she let out an involuntary noise of distress, he flicked his eyes over to meet hers. “What?”

“I don’t want to get my dress dirty,” she mumbled, arranging the hem around herself so as little of the fabric was touching the wooden porch as possible.

“You’re such a _girl_ ,” he muttered, and she elbowed him hard in the ribs. 

“Excellent observation, Watson,” she shot back.

He rolled his eyes, shifting around to give her space. “Why’d you wear it, anyway?”

“Because I felt like it.” Her voice was a little sharper than was probably warranted, but she found a little vein of hurt working into her stomach at his dismissiveness. Jemma thought she looked quite well put-together today, her atypical choice of a daytime dress aside, and although there wasn’t any real reason for her friend to have noticed... well, she might not have minded if he had. “I just can _not_ believe you know how to pick a lock.”

“It’s easy,” he said, propping one wire in his mouth and inserting the bent end of the other into the door lock. “Taken these locks apart a hundred times by now,” he mumbled around the wire, “should know how they work.”

“You really are an odd duck.” She grinned when he glowered at her, and she gave his leg a brief pat. “But in a good way.”

“Thanks.” Nodding to himself as he finished fishing around in the small opening, he withdrew the first wire and held it out to her. “You have to feel for the pins with the end of the wire – that’s what the key does, holds the pins in the right position.” He scooted over so that she could kneel squarely in front of the lock, and then leaned in to wrap his right hand over hers as he explained.

Ever the diligent student, Jemma listened carefully, frowning in concentration as she followed his instructions. At one point when she turned to ask him to explain something, she found herself so close that the tip of her nose brushed his – if she’d been any closer, their lips would have touched. Fitz froze and then leaned sharply backward and away from her. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, a blush blooming on her cheeks as she wondered whether or not she’d been imagining that his eyes had dipped briefly to her lips.

He muttered awkwardly that it was okay, and held himself away so that when he answered her question, he wasn’t quite so close anymore. _But then – what did it matter if he had been looking at her lips?_ she asked herself as she returned to fiddling with the door lock. Surely it would have just been because he’d noticed how close they were, as she had. It didn’t mean anything.

The question bothered her for the rest of the day, and as that one turned into the next, Jemma found herself noticing a lot more about Fitz’s behavior – and about her own. A week had passed since the incident at the bridge, and during the intervening time, something had shifted. Rather than just moving around each other and working alongside each other on their project as they had been, the space between them had become heightened. Jemma’s little touches drew Fitz’s gaze more often than not, and she had unintentionally started dressing in ways that might catch his attention. This, she realized with a little vein of surprise, had been why she’d worn a dress during the daytime for the first time since she’d arrived at the resort.

Two days later, when Jemma showed up at Fitz’s cabin in a pair of stylish and as-of-yet unworn forest green shorts, she was able to gather evidence as to whether or not he’d felt the same shift. Although she’d purchased the shorts before departing for the Poconos, they were hemmed a bit higher than anything else she owned and she had never quite felt brave enough to wear them out. With the weather at a boiling point and the outdoors more humid than her bathroom after a long shower, however, that morning she’d decided that it was time to put them to use. Upon her arrival at his door, her friend’s eyes dropped immediately to her legs, and as he twisted quickly to let her inside, a smug smile ticked up the corners of her mouth. If Fitz hadn’t noticed she was a girl before, she was fairly certain he had by now.

His behavior only became more amusing as the day went on. Their current tasks primarily involved doing calculations using Elena’s Sharp Compet and then double-checking each others’ work. Since the machine was so large, it was on a small folding table they’d lugged out to the porch, working on it while sitting side by side on the wooden bench against the cabin wall. After finishing a new round of calculations, Jemma leaned back on the bench, chewing absently on her pencil’s erasing while she studied the figures she’d just finished churning out.

When she moved backwards, her thigh was close enough to Fitz’s that she could feel the denim of his jeans. Next to her, he stiffened just enough that it was noticeable, and then unsubtly shifted an inch to the right. Rolling her eyes, Jemma propped her papers on her knees and also scooted an inch to the right, just because him moving was silly. It wasn’t as if they were in Victorian England and she’d just... lifted her petticoats, or some such nonsense. 

However, yet again, once her bare leg was pressed against his, Fitz moved away. So Jemma followed him again. And on this went, with both of them pretending that they were working, until at last they reached the end of the bench and Fitz went flailing over the side and onto the wooden flooring with a startled grunt.

“Oh no,” Jemma exclaimed, barely holding back a laugh as Fitz scrambled to his feet, “are you alright?”

“Yup,” he answered right away, shooting to his feet, papers in hand and a bright flush coloring his face all the way to his neck. “Yup, ah, fine, just – need some air, I think, y’know.” 

“We’re outside.”

He stared back at her, blinked, and then his eyes drifted down to her legs again as if he genuinely couldn’t help himself. With a strangled cough, he dropped his papers onto the table next to the calculator. “I’ve got to – water. D’you want some water?” And without waiting for an answer, he sped into the cabin, letting the screen door swing noisily shut behind him.

Grinning, Jemma stared thoughtfully at the doorway and tapped her pencil against her lower lip. That had been more fun than she would have expected; she rather enjoyed getting a rise out of Fitz. To her amusement, he had been very responsive, in a way that almost assured her he was at least capable of thinking of her as a girl – and maybe as something a bit different than just his project partner.

As she watched Fitz shuffle backwards through the door with two glasses of water in hand, she thought that, perhaps, the idea of flirting with him would benefit from a little more study. And Jemma, as always, was an excellent study.

 

\------

 

Unfortunately, flirting had never been something at which Jemma had excelled, either, so she found herself feeling supremely awkward about the whole thing. Back in Washington, she had only ever gone on a handful of dates, had two brief kisses, and had not been especially interested in any of the local boys beyond their symmetrical features. Fitz was far more complicated, and as such he warranted just the right approach... but she wasn’t sure what that was. So, she decided to keep treating him as she had been – and if she ever became more certain that he was interested in her becoming something other than a science partner, then she might consider asking one of the other girls at the resort for advice. _Might_.

As it happened, it only took another couple of days before Jemma felt more certain Fitz was at least somewhat interested in her apart from their friendship.

The morning started off in a way she found rather confusing, as she woke up from what was her first ever sex dream. It had been rather nonspecific, and her memory of most of it was fuzzy, except that right before she’d woken up she’d gotten a glimpse of a very familiar pair of striking blue eyes and flushed lips bowed in passion. Upon waking, she spent a few minutes lying flat on her back on her bed, breathing heavily and feeling unsure if she should have enjoyed that more than she did. All she felt was an unsatisfied sort of heat, and embarrassment that her imagination had thought something so scandalous – blurry though the nature of the scandal might be in her memory – about her friend. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her camisole, and then she let out an abrupt groan and turned to bury her face in her pillow. Figuring out whether or not she wanted _more_ than friendship from Fitz was driving her mad. And his feelings were even more of a puzzle.

The rest of the day was simply tiring. At long last, they had started assembling the Golden Retriever’s first prototype, but working with scrap materials meant that everything took longer than it would have in a proper lab or workshop. The work was complex, difficult, and sweaty, and by the time the sun sunk low in the sky, they were both exhausted.

Jemma, with dirt streaks on her forehead and a distracting ache in her lower back, stretched her arms out on either side of herself as she stood and prepared to leave. Even though he had a fan in his cabin, it did not provide sufficient air as they toiled, and they couldn’t keep the door open more than a medium-sized crack to avoid giving away the secret of their collaboration.

“But I still have another hour before my shift,” Fitz grumbled, glancing up from where he was sorting parts on a worktable.

“Yes,” she sighed, dropping her arms to her sides and catching a glimpse of Fitz turning quickly away again. “But I have to shower and get ready before dinner tonight.”

“It’s just _dinner_.” He was decidedly not looking at her as she finished tidying up her space on the workbench, and she let out an annoyed huff.

“Maybe to _you_ , but I have to make myself look nice for dinner with my parents, or my mother will never let me hear the end of it.” 

“You look nice like that,” he retorted, a bit waspishly. 

“I mean _pretty_ ,” she countered.

“You always look pretty –” he snapped automatically, and then clamped his mouth shut and turned pink all in the space of two seconds.

A wide smile spread across Jemma’s face, and she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she shifted around to face him more squarely. “I do?”

Fitz’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds, and he swallowed. “Erm. Y’know, I guess. Sure.”

Shortening the gap between them, she couldn’t help the slight hop in her step. “Really?” She knew she was fishing, but she rather liked being able to elicit this kind of reaction from her best friend. At the worst, she could simply pretend to be teasing him, and not reveling slightly in the fact that he found her pretty. 

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” His shoulders rolled forward over his tools, and she leaned on the edge of his table. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

Fitz groaned and rolled his eyes. “Yes, alright already, you’re _pretty_. You’re gonna be late for dinner, go on.”

With a bright smile, Jemma darted forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Fitz. See you in the dining hall.”

She straightened and trotted right to the cabin door, but as she left, she turned for a quick glance at him over her shoulder. In that half-a-second glimpse, she caught him brushing his fingertips against the spot she’d just kissed and staring out at nothing with a half-smile gracing his own lips.

In that moment, Jemma was quite certain that the partnership between her and Fitz was becoming exactly what she’d suspected ever since he had saved her from the creek.

 

\------

 

The rest of that week was simply wearing, Jemma’s intriguing observations about Fitz aside.

In addition to them needing to redo the first half-attempt at their prototype of the Golden Retriever, Milton showed off his progress on his project at breakfast one morning, which improved neither Jemma’s nor Fitz’s mood. Much to her particular chagrin, Milton’s work was actually much cleverer than she had anticipated, and her own father being impressed by it hadn’t helped. Her competitive streak was straining against the urge to want to show off all the work she and Fitz had accomplished in the past month, but it was still far too early for her to reveal their partnership. And even if she _was_ just trying to impress her father, she would feel guilty about not giving Fitz his due credit. So she fumed in silence at the breakfast table and gave Milton a thin smile when he turned to her for approval.

Once she was at Fitz’s to do work, she found herself barely able to concentrate, fidgeting constantly and breaking out into random asides about how Milton’s project was overrated.

“And my father,” she said after having been silent for at least a good five minutes, “even patted him on the back! It’s ridiculous, for what’s barely more than a vinegar volcano.” 

Across the table from her, Fitz sighed, letting his parts and screwdriver lower to the table. “You said that already.” 

“Yes, well,” she said with a sniff. “It’s _still_ ridiculous. And I cannot... get....” The delicate metal mesh she’d been attempting to form bent out of shape again, and she let out an annoyed groan. “Rubbish!”

“Okay,” Fitz said, pushing suddenly back in his chair and making Jemma jump. “C’mon.” 

“What?” She watched as he strode around the table and grabbed her right hand with his left.

“We’re getting out of here.” Her brows furrowed as she prepared to object, and he quickly slotted their fingers together so it would be harder for her to escape before tugging her up. “And don’t argue. No scientist does good work when they’re too close to a project. Right?” 

Not liking the fact that he was pulling her out through the door of the cabin without giving her a choice, Jemma gave brief thought to kicking her best friend in the back of the knee to free herself. But as he finished locking the front door behind them, she thought that he might have a point. Besides, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little pleased with the snug, easy fit of her hand in his. 

“Right,” she muttered, allowing him to pull her across the grass. “Where are we going, then?” 

“Away from here.” He glanced back at her. “I think this place is driving us both round the bend. I’ll borrow one of Mack’s cars, he won’t mind.”

The two of them jumped at the sound of a nearby door slamming shut at the edge of the staff residences, and Fitz dropped her hand like it had burned him. Pursing her lips, Jemma curled her fingers into fists to keep herself from reaching back for him. 

He squinted over at her before beginning to walk again. “Don’t run off. You need this, too.”

“Oh _really_ , Fitz,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands out to the side. “Do I look like I’m running away from you? I could’ve gotten away back there if I’d wanted to.”

“Right. Well.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, continuing to lead them both across the grass. “Not used to people just sticking around, I guess.” 

Jemma sped up to keep even with him, twisting one hand in the loose edge of her shirt where it was tied around her waist. “What?”

Exhaling, he slowed his pace just enough that he could glance back at her. “No, I – sorry. My dad left when I was ten, so – it was a bad joke. I didn’t really... you could go, if you wanted. I just think –”

“It’s a good idea,” she said gently, tapping his arm with her knuckles. “But... can you drive?” 

“No, I just thought I’d give it a shot and see how it goes.” When she let out an annoyed _tsk_ , he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, course I can drive. I have a permit. 

“Don’t you need an adult to be in the car, though? A legal driver? For a permit?”

Fitz pointedly didn’t look at her when he next spoke, steering them around the edge of the pavilion and towards the main building. “Erm. Dunno.”

“Fitz!”

“It’ll be fine,” he attempted to assure her. “Mack’s let me do it loads of times.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and planting her trainers in the grass a few meters from the main building. “I like following the rules. It makes me feel nice.”

Fitz groaned and doubled back the distance he’d gone before realizing he’d lost her. “I promise, it’ll be fine.” Something mischievous lit his eyes, and he crossed his own arms, mimicking her. “But if you don’t wanna come, that’s fine. I’m sure Milton would love to find you out here all alone so he can go over, what was it – the perfect ratio of baking powder to vinegar?”

Jemma blanched and gave a full body shiver. “Fine. I’m, well – I don’t have a permit, but I’m a responsible young prodigy. I’m sure I could almost count as part of that regulation.”

“If that helps you sleep better at night,” Fitz said, chuckling under his breath, and then dodged her friendly whack as he kept going.

“Wait a minute.” She stopped again as she realized the direction he was heading. “Where are we going? The garage is that way.”

“Kitchens,” he tossed over his shoulder, and she burst out laughing before skipping to catch up. 

“You had breakfast two hours ago!” 

“There’s always time for a second breakfast.” Shrugging, he waited for her at the top of the main building’s porch stairs.

“Tolkien fan, are you?”

As she drew even with him on the top step, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “I... yeah.” Pleased with his surprise, she just circled around him and continued towards the kitchens, clasping her hands jauntily behind her back. “You?” 

She slid her eyes over him as he reached for the door handle before her, and then shrugged. “I always was rather fond of hobbits.” Then she sauntered past him into the dining hall, fighting a grin as she wondered whether he would take that as flirtatious as she meant it. After all, his normal-sized feet aside, Fitz _did_ have fair-colored curls and was somewhat short in stature.

The kitchen staff was doing the start of prep-work for lunchtime, so it only took a little bit of convincing to let her and Fitz pop inside. A basket of food for three packed (Fitz insisted that extra would be a good idea in case either of them dropped anything, but she saw through that ruse in a hot second), they sped to the garage. Jemma spent most of the way there in an uncontrollable giggle-fit over the image of Fitz carrying a red-and-white checkered tablecloth slung over his shoulder like a cape. It also made him look a little bit like a fairytale prince, and the idea of him being her knight in shining armor appealed to her more than it should to someone of her innately analytical and steadfastly feminist nature. 

Once in the borrowed (and slightly outdated) jet-black Chevrolet Bel Air with which Mack agreed to part, Fitz drove them about half an hour away before pulling onto the shoulder of a road next to a field. With a good view down the gently sloping hill, framed by a thick line of trees, they laid the picnic blanket on the hood of the car and climbed gingerly up onto it for lunch. Even though this car was a little older and more well-used than the others in the garage, Fitz was still leery of causing damage to something with which Mack had trusted him. 

They left the radio on as they ate, the sound scratchy from the tower’s distance but audible enough to prompt Jemma to tap her fingers on her jeans as they chatted. Although they began focused on their project, they branched off to school, and favorite classes, and being shyly surprised and pleased that they both knew the isolation of young genius. Fitz kept getting sandwich breadcrumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth, Jemma laughed far too much, and she found herself completely forgetting the dour mood that had spurred this expedition.


	5. Chapter 5

After their early lunch, Jemma and Fitz agreed to go wandering around a bit – nature hunting, she told him, was good for the blood. It was something her father had always said, even if the nature closest to their house in northern D.C. was nothing like the wide expanses to be found here in the Pennsylvanian countryside. A wooden fence lined field by the car, and Fitz clambered awkwardly over it first before reaching around to help her across. His fingers rested on her hips for a few seconds too long once she was on solid ground again, and she felt an odd sliver of disappointment as he let go.

Jemma didn’t know how long they wandered along the edge of the field, weaving in and around the outermost trees. A bank of clouds rolled in above them, hiding the sun and coaxing the two of them out again into the open.

“Two summers’ worth,” she said wryly, in the midst of teasing Fitz about his job at the resort. “Every night. You must be quite the expert now.” 

“Uh, not,” he retorted, jumping up and yanking down a low-hanging branch off a nearby tree. Following her into the field, he proceeded to poke at the dirt while they strolled, whacking aside pebbles or drawing half-figures as they went.

“Surely you must have learned something.” Jemma raised an eyebrow and hooked one thumb into her jeans pocket. “Dancing isn’t _that_ difficult.” 

“Merengue master, then, are you?” She made a face, and he nudged her with an elbow. “Ah-ha, see? You took an actual lesson, too. How’m I supposed to learn anything when I actively try _not_ to watch?”

“But it must be so scintillating,” she deadpanned. “Think of all the drama.”

“Drama’s not my cup of tea.” When she let out a derisive little snort, he turned a wide-eyed, innocent stare in her direction. “What?”

“‘This is the third time this week,’” she said, aping his Scottish accent quite terribly, “‘the cosmos doesn’t want this bloody dog to walk!’”

“I don’t sound like that,” he muttered, and she laughed, tilting lightly into him.

“Yes, you do!” Jemma grinned, tapping his arm gently with the back of her hand. “But those joints really _were_ being foul.” 

“See!” Fitz let out a little huff and crossed his arms.

Slowing their progress, she let their conversation fade into a brief lull, turning to squint up in the direction they’d left the car. Somehow, the gentle incline of the hillside seemed much steeper as she stared behind them; apparently, they’d gone a bit further than she had expected. 

“You know,” she started, voicing a thought that had just popped into her head, “dancing is the most common form of mating ritual in the animal kingdom.”

She would never forget the image of the people in the staff building, the dirty dancing that she found at once so risqué and so bizarrely appealing. Ambassador’s daughters did not attend dirty dancing rooms – with anyone, let alone someone from the resort staff. Even if she might-possibly-very-much want to.

By her side, Fitz scoffed. “Like a mating dance? _That_ is not the same as a mating dance.”

Shrugging, Jemma turned halfway back to where he was drawing nonsense patterns into the dirt. “It sort of is. The dancing we saw the other night was pretty....” She trailed off, cheeks heating up as she sought words other than _sexual_ or _erotic_. “...Mating-like.” Fitz let out a low, dismissive noise, and she rolled her eyes. “At least it’s better than a mating _call_.”

At that, he let out a small noise of recognition. “Actually, y’know, I was just reading something about this study that tested how [the louder the howler monkey is, the smaller their](https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/speaking-of-science/wp/2015/10/22/when-it-comes-to-sex-the-loudest-male-howler-monkeys-dont-have-much-to-shout-about-heres-why/?utm_term=.62a763655628) –” 

His eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut at once, staring over at her with distinct panic. Unable to help herself, Jemma burst into giggles.

“Oh, _really_ , Fitz. The technical term is penis. It’s just a word.” A bright flush took over his face at that, and she had to stifle another laugh. “It’s a good thing you really aren’t interested in biology.”

“Cannot disagree with you on that,” he muttered.

Amused by the way he was now avoiding her gaze, she rocked back on her heels. “So, volume has a negative correlation to size.” A smart comeback popped into her head, and she tried very hard – for at least two seconds – to convince herself not to say it and risk making the rather excellent afternoon awkward. But before she could stop herself, the words were out. “Is that your way of pointing out that you’re rather quiet?” 

Fitz burst into a hacking cough, letting his stick drop and bending halfway over at the waist. “That’s,” he tried to choke out, barely audible underneath Jemma’s laughter, “n-not – I was just – for science! Interesting for science!” 

“Oh, indeed,” she chuckled, reaching forward to help him return to a standing position. With them already standing quite close together, then, Jemma found her hand slipping into Fitz’s, and her other coming up to rest on his shoulder. “What about dancing for science?”

Letting out one last cough, he stared bemusedly down at where she was now holding him. “What? Why?” 

Jemma _tsked_. “Aren’t you the least bit curious? Dancing can be fun, you know.” 

He made a face, but he didn’t shake her off, either. “Like with Milton?”

She couldn’t help the full-body shudder she made in response, and Fitz let out a loud sound that was just shy of a cackle. “I said it _can_ be fun, not that it is always fun! Come on now, dance with me! I’ve been told I’m quite good at it.” 

His hand came around to rest gingerly on her waist, and she stepped in close against him. “By Milton, I’m guessing.” 

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “Maybe.” 

“Doesn’t he agree with everything you say?”

“A bit,” she agreed with a low sigh. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not an excellent dancer.”

“Your merengue classmates might disagree,” he teased, and she gave his shoulder a light whack. 

“Just do what I do –”

“But opposite, right?”

With halting steps, Jemma instructed Fitz through a basic waltz, unable to stop herself from laughing every five seconds at the faces he made whenever he stumbled on a branch or either one of them managed to collide with each others’ toes. Held against her, he was warm and his movements a bit jerky, but it was rather nice to feel the way his limbs worked in concert with hers. 

“Dancing,” he concluded gruffly after their fifth turn, “is unnecessarily complicated.” 

“But not _so_ terrible,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Not if you have a good partner.” 

He grumbled and shrugged, sliding his eyes back up to meet hers. “I s’pose.”

As Jemma gazed up at her best friend, she realized that they’d stopped moving and were merely standing in each others’ arms in the middle of a deserted field. For a split second, Fitz’s eyes flickered to her lips, and her heart pattered unevenly in her chest. Was this it? The moment that one of them did something about the thickening tension between them as they worked, and chatted, and spent virtually all of their time together?

Somewhere above them a loud crack echoed through the sky. Just as they both tilted their heads up, the clouds let loose a deluge of rain directly onto the field – and them. With mutual cries of displeasure, the two of them sprinted to the edge of the trees, trying to find one that had thick enough branches to actually shield them from the storm.

“C’mon,” Fitz said, grabbing onto Jemma’s arm as she spun in place, looking for a better tree than the anemic one they’d ended up beneath first, and pulling her behind him. He’d spotted a nearby hemlock tree, distinctive for its tightly woven leaves, and tugged her after him into its shelter. 

Panting from their sprint, Jemma dropped back against the trunk as Fitz used it to lean upon, resting his hands on either side of her shoulders.

“If it’s a thunderstorm,” she said, sweeping sopping wet hair out of her eyes, “we shouldn’t stay here for long. It’s dangerous to stay under trees when there’s lightning –” 

“I don’t think it’s right over us, though,” Fitz interrupted, twisting his head around to peer out at the drenched field. “Listen.” Sure enough, although they could hear low rolls of thunder in the sky, after that first crack there didn’t seem to be any other sounds that indicated lightning was in the offing. “Think we’re okay here until the rain lets up.” 

“Alright.” When Fitz turned around again, Jemma blinked up at him, suddenly close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips. They both realized at the same time exactly how close they were standing, and she felt abruptly like her heartbeat was vastly too loud, even underneath the rain.

“S-sorry,” he muttered, eyes shifting to her right as if he was considering moving, and she instinctively reached out to curl her fingers into the fabric of his tee.

“No,” she blurted, cheeks warming as he returned his gaze to hers. Jemma wasn’t even sure what she wanted. All she knew was that she liked the way he almost had her pressed against the rough bark of the old, tall tree. She liked the feeling of him breathing beneath her fingers, his chest and muscles expanding and contracting. She liked the possibility that hung so thickly in the few centimeters left between them. 

“What?”

Jemma inhaled, keeping her eyes fixed on his, mesmerized by their deep, storm-darkened blue. “You, um, don’t have to move.” 

“Oh,” he whispered, glancing down at her lips as she darted her tongue out to wet them.

Above them, the leaves shook with the weight of the water the tree was barely keeping off their skin. Fitz’s breath was shallow, and his gaze flickered between her eyes and lips more than once, until finally he leaned down to close the last bit of distance between their mouths. His lips were warm and gentle and so hesitant it made something tingle deep inside Jemma’s stomach. When she pressed in more firmly, catching his top lip between her two, he shivered.

After only a few seconds, he broke away, just far enough that he could stare dazedly down at her, but her eyes focused on his lips and she leaned forward to capture his mouth with hers again. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Fitz wrapped his arms around her waist, closing the distance between them entirely. With a quick adjustment, Jemma had her own hands curled up over his shoulder blades, sighing as their mouths found a rhythm of heady, slow kisses.

Their noses brushed as she tilted her head and parted her lips, and for half a second he froze against her. Then he opened his mouth, allowing her to dip her tongue inside, and he let out a hitched groan. His movements were tentative, waiting for her tongue to slide against his before he mimicked her, and Jemma suspected that she might be teaching him to kiss. Since that meant he was willingly kissing her just as she’d always wanted to be kissed, however, she was absolutely thrilled at the thought. Gently, she experimented with drawing his lower lip between her two and slicking her tongue over it, and to her pleasure this elicited another stuttered gasp.

He drew away again, this time to rest their foreheads together and pant heavily in the space between them. For a moment, Jemma was glad for the cool raindrops that fell sporadically onto her arm and chest; the rest of her felt overheated, and the air hung thick and wet between them.

“Jemma,” he murmured, and her whole body thrummed with something brand new, something deliciously exciting. No one had ever said her name like that before, and in Fitz’s accent – heavy with desire – it made her positively lightheaded.

“Fitz,” she returned quietly, nuzzling up against him and letting her eyelids flutter shut as she ghosted their lips together.

“What’re we doing?”

“I think it’s called kissing.” She grinned at his quiet huff, and then squeezed him even more tightly against herself. “Or so I’m told.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?”

“ _Jemma_.” 

Ducking her head, she stared at a mole on his neck and wondered briefly how it would taste beneath her tongue. “What do _you_ want us to be doing?” 

“I dunno.” When she met his gaze, his expression was both bashful and unsure, and she had to fight the urge to just kiss him everywhere she could reach.

“Did you...” Jemma started, fumbling for her next words. “...Want that?” 

“Yes.” His answer was breathless and immediate, and warmth bloomed in her chest. “If you... did you?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” he breathed, “good.” 

“So are we maybe....”

“Going steady?”

A wide smile broke across her face. “I was going to say dating. But I like the sound of that, too. Going steady.” 

“ _Awesome_.” Fitz muttered this under his breath, as if he’d forgotten that she was there, and his cheeks reddened instantly. “Erm....”

“Awesome,” Jemma repeated, reaching up to bring his lips back to hers. As they kissed again, having settled his uncertainty about what they had just become to each other, Fitz became more confident in his experimenting. The strokes of his tongue against hers became surer, and he pressed her back against the tree in just the way she’d hoped for, and she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.

He snugged her in against his chest, and she was briefly aware of the fact that her breasts were now pressed tightly against the flat planes of his chest. Yet it felt normal and wonderful to be close enough to someone that – were she to concentrate – she might be able to feel his heart beating against hers. And it was especially wonderful to be with someone she trusted; she’d never trusted the boys back at her school as she did Fitz. When he tightened his arms, or moved his hand, or dragged his fingers just beneath her jaw, she knew he wouldn’t use these kisses to either bolster his reputation or tarnish hers, and she knew he would stop the second she asked. But, _God_ , when he figured out how to do this little twist of his tongue against hers that sent heat washing through her whole body, she wasn’t sure she’d ever want him to stop.

After many, many more minutes than it felt like, Fitz drew away again, panting from lack of air to match her own breathlessness. “Christ,” he muttered, leaning their foreheads together again, “I could do that forever.”

“Me, too.” Her voice was higher and breathier than she had ever heard it, and she felt vaguely dizzy, as if she were drunk on the taste of her best friend. 

“But, um, Jemma...” he started, pulling back to shyly meet her gaze. “What about when... we get back? To the resort.”

Her nose wrinkled of its own accord. If he thought that their relationship would only last the length of the drive back, then the two of them had very different concepts of ‘going steady.’

“What about it?” 

Fitz let out a reluctant sigh, briefly gnawing at his bottom lip before he spoke. “They’re really strict. About things like this. Someone almost got sacked last summer for just kissing one girl’s hand in the dining room, for God’s sake.”

“This from the place that wants its wait staff to write girls poetry?” she shot back, self-consciously deflecting from the possibility that he was about to call the whole thing off. She’d only just learned the feel of his lips against hers; it would be cruel to take it away again so quickly. 

Staring down at her, his mouth dropped open and his arms loosened around her waist. “You – how d’you know about that?”

“I was talking a walk before dinner and I... may have overheard.” Jemma gave him a sly smile, amused at the vague expression of horror now on his face. “How did it go... roses are red, violets are blue, I’m all out of money, so I’d like to date you? Something like that, anyway.”

His face fell, arms slackening around her waist. “I didn’t mean that.”

Jemma grinned and rested one hand on his chest. “No, I know –”

“I was joking –” 

“You were just –”

“And I’d never do that to you.” His voice and expression were utterly serious now, earnest blue eyes searching hers. “If you were – if you thought that. I don’t care where you come from.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “ _Fitz_. I – I know. I didn’t think that.” Unable to stop herself any longer, she stretched up to press their mouths together, reveling in the fact that he kissed her back straightaway this time. After only a few seconds, she leaned back enough to meet his gaze, lips tilting up at the corners. “I don’t care where you’re from, either.”

An awed smile broke across his face, and he reached up to cup her jaw in one hand. Leaning forward, he intentionally brushed their noses together before kissing her again, and Jemma felt rather like she was floating on all of the attention he was paying her. How different he seemed now from the grumpy, dismissive tech guy who had once studiously ignored her.

A crack of thunder echoed across the field and they both jumped, breaking apart as Fitz glanced over his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go,” Jemma said, rather more reluctantly than she should probably feel. But being kissed by her best friend as if there was nothing else in the universe really was rather nice. 

He turned back towards her, studied her face for a good few seconds, and then slid his hand up to cup her jaw. “In a minute,” he murmured just before kissing her again, and she happily leaned into his embrace.

Another thunderclap sounded above them, and Fitz pulled away with a low grumble. “We have to go,” Jemma insisted, twisting their fingers together. “It’s dangerous to stay here.” 

“Alright,” Fitz mumbled, tightening his fingers in hers. “Run for it?”

“Three,” she started, matching his grin with her own, “two – go!”

They sprinted out into the field, where the rain had lessened slightly from the initial downpour but was still going strong. Although they tried to keep their hands together, the ground was so slippery that as they both lost their balance, they had to let go. Finally almost at the car, Jemma nearly fell face-first into the mud as she clambered off of the fence, but Fitz caught her around the waist at the last second.

As she straightened up against him, still catching her balance, she twisted up to say thank you. Just as she got the words out, though, his eyes drifted away from hers for a split second before snapping right up again, and his cheeks flushed bright pink even with the cool rain still coming steadily down onto them. He stumbled away from her, and, although she was somewhat confused about why he’d just darted away from her like she’d burned him, she figured it was just to get into the shelter of the car as soon as possible.

Climbing into the passenger side, Jemma gave a full body shiver as she tried to wipe away as much of the water as she could without a towel. 

“Ooh, that is a _nasty_ storm,” she said, turning to look for Fitz’s agreement. Instead, he was sitting stock still in the driver’s seat, water dripping from his hair line and eyes trained stiffly on the ceiling. “Fitz?”

“Your, um,” he croaked, clearing his throat, “shirt, it... in the water, it....”

Jemma glanced down and, with a gasp of horror, threw her arms over her breasts. Of all the days to wear a white button-down shirt and a thin, satin bra. Through the now translucent fabric, her nipples were visible clear as day, the cloth plastered to her skin making them appear even more prominent.

“S-sorry,” Fitz stammered weakly, dropping his gaze at last to give her a sheepish, apologetic look. “I didn’t notice ‘til....”

“It’s okay,” she assured him with a thin smile, hugging her arms more tightly around her chest. “It’s not like you planned the thunderstorm.”

He shook his head vigorously, as if she might think he had otherwise. “Definitely not.” 

During the brief lull in conversation, his eyes drifted back down to her chest and then flickered abruptly away again. The idea of him wanting to see her breasts despite knowing that it was inappropriate amused her to no end. It seemed that she was learning a whole host of new things about her best friend today. Fitz was a quick study at kissing, he particularly liked her bottom lip, and he was apparently interested in her breasts. Oddly enough, the more she thought about it, she realized she probably wasn’t as bothered by the last thought as she ought to be. Especially since they’d only been “going steady” for about half an hour.

Looking over at him, Jemma drew her bottom lip in between her teeth. “So,” she said, shifting to the left side of her seat as far as she could go while keeping her arms around herself. He was half watching her progress and half poking at the edge of the gearshift between them. “What do we do now...?”

As she trailed off, she dropped her eyes to Fitz’s mouth, and his gaze flicked back up to hers in an instant. Darting his tongue out to wet his lips, he leaned towards her, and then – let out a small “oh!” 

To her disappointment, he reached into the back of the car instead of for her. When he found what he was searching for, however, Jemma’s mood picked up considerably: Fitz had grabbed for the picnic blanket, which he then wrapped around her shoulders, effectively covering her shirt.

“There,” he said happily, giving her an eager smile, “all set.” 

“And warm,” she added, tucking the ends under her arms. “This is brilliant, Fitz, thank you.”

“Happy to help.” This time when he leaned towards her, he ended the movement by kissing her soundly, cupping her jaw with one hand and letting his other rest on her blanket-covered thigh.

With the rain beating down on the car roof and droplets still slipping down their skin, Jemma lost herself in the taste of Fitz’s lips, wondering how they’d possibly spent the past month together but so much farther apart than they were now. Space was clearly overrated.

 

\------

 

By the time they returned to the resort, the sun was just about to set behind the clouds, and the entire grounds were waterlogged. It was too late for them to do any meaningful work before Fitz had to attend to his evening shift, so instead they simply parted, kissing deeply again in the deserted garage and then waving from a distance once they were outside. (Walking backwards as he did so, Fitz only narrowly avoided falling into a nearby storm drain.) 

Jemma traipsed happily back to her half of her family’s cabin, humming a song from the radio and not paying a whit of attention to anything that was going on around her. Her mind was too filled with memories of raindrops and kisses, of whispers and promises. So when her mother stood from their shared porch’s rocking chair as Jemma ascended the steps, she squeaked and jumped into the air, pressing one hand to the picnic blanket that she still had wrapped protectively around herself.

“Where have you been, sweetheart?” Her mother – pearls at the ready and book folded primly between her hands – gave her still-soaked appearance a critical once-over.

“It rained,” Jemma said bluntly, trying to be as wry as possible. “I got caught in the storm. Luckily, I ran into Fitz on the way back and he found me this to stay warm.” With an understanding nod, her mother leaned against the porch railing, continuing to study her in a way that made Jemma fidget with the hem of the blanket. “What?” 

“Fitz is a nice young man,” her mother mused, and Jemma couldn’t help the reflexive smile that crossed her face. 

“He’s my best friend in the world.” 

Her mother gave her a fond smile in return, and reached out to pat her shoulder and steer her towards her room. “Just be careful that it doesn’t stray farther than that.”

“Why not?” Jemma halted, resisting her mother’s nudging and turning around to study her expression. “I mean, we’re not – I’d never _dream_... but why?” 

Sighing, her mother reached up to trace the pearls at her neck. “You know why, darling. There’s no future to be had with summer romances or serving boys.” 

Before she could come up with any retort at all, her mother had nudged her the rest of the way into her room and shut the cabin door behind her. Jemma allowed herself to give the floor a petulant, pointless little stomp and then tossed the checkered picnic blanket onto her bed. Fitz wasn’t a _serving boy_ – he was so much more than that. And what was so wrong with serving boys, anyway? Certainly, if they were like Fitz, they deserved far more than a simple, prejudiced dismissal.


	6. Chapter 6

At dinner that night, Jemma could barely eat she was so happy. Her parents were briefly perplexed over her noticeably buoyant mood, but she was able to say that she’d had a major breakthrough earlier and, well, have the lie actually be more truthful than not. Whenever she could get away with it, she glanced across the room at Fitz, and half the time she did, she caught him staring dreamily back at her. She would grin when she caught his eye, he would blush and duck his head, and she would then return her gaze to her plate, fighting the urge to bounce in excitement. Managing to eat while so distracted was something of a challenge, and she barely managed to force down half of her [chicken à la king](http://www.thekitchn.com/10-recipes-that-defined-the-1960s-recipes-of-the-decades-200542). 

Once they were done with the meal, Jemma just leaned back in her chair and pretended to be interested in the group’s conversation while mostly paying attention to Fitz.

“Hey Jemma, you wanna dance?”

Too busy daydreaming about tugging Fitz outside for a snog behind the main building, Jemma almost didn’t hear Milton, and blinked up at him owlishly when she realized he was waiting for an answer. “Pardon?”

“You wanna dance?” he repeated slowly, giving her parents a theatrical grin over the top of her head. If she weren’t mistaken, his dark hair was shining with an unnecessarily heavy dose of gel.

“Oh go on, darling,” her mother said, patting her on the arm.

Panic bloomed in Jemma’s chest, and she glanced automatically up to search out Fitz. Of course, the one time all night that she really _needed_ him to be watching her, he wasn’t, instead busily consulting with one of the guests over a recording request.

“C’mon, the music’s been rad all night,” Milton said, reaching out to grab her hand where it lay next to her empty plate.

Caught off guard and flustered, she was left with little choice other than to let him tug her determinedly to the dance floor. The idea of what Fitz would think when he inevitably looked up and saw them made her feel faintly ill. They had begun their tentative romance mere hours before and now she was about to dance with someone else. 

Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself as Milton leaned his sweaty cheek against hers, and she moved back as quickly and not-rudely as possible. They made one stilted turn around the dance floor, and this time when she looked for Fitz, he was staring right at her. Something clenched in her chest at the undiluted hurt and surprise written across his features, and when he blinked and stared down at the record player, she wanted to cry. She willed him to look up again, to make eye contact, to let her mouth “ _I’m sorry_ ” across the crowded room – but he kept his head resolutely down, arms drawing protectively in against his chest.

The second half of the song was pure agony, with Jemma fighting self-loathing just as much as she was hoping against all hope that Fitz would remember the conversation they’d had beneath the tree about secrecy. At long last, the melody faded out, and as the room burst into renewed chatter and a smattering of applause, she mumbled a half excuse about needing fresh air in Milton’s direction and took off across the floor. As she drew nearly even with Fitz’s work area, he glanced up long enough for her to tilt her head pointedly towards the door. Giving her a slight nod, he turned to the player and grabbed for a brand new record. Without slowing her pace, Jemma strode out into the thick night air and down the building’s side steps to the grass.

The bars of a new song wafted above where she began to wear a path in the lawn next to the porch, and she took a deep breath as she heard the door creak open and swing shut again with a gentle _thwack_.

“Jemma?” came Fitz’s whisper, and she twisted her hands together in front of her dress.

“Down the stairs,” she replied quietly, and in short order Fitz traipsed down the wooden stairs mere feet from her. Moving immediately into his space, she cupped her hands around the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry,” she murmured, staring deeply into his widening cobalt eyes. “I couldn’t think of what to do, he came over and asked, and my mum said yes, but I hadn’t even _thought_ –”

“Hey,” he said, reaching up to pull her hands down and then curl his own around hers. “It’s okay, Jemma, I know – I mean, we talked about it, yeah?”

“Yeah?” she breathed in surprised relief. “Yeah, right, of course, I just....” She trailed off, frowning as she looked worriedly up at him, mollified by his immediate refutation of her concerns. “You looked upset.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, and he dropped his gaze between them. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t... exactly what I was expecting, y’know? Didn’t _like_ seeing you with.... Caught me by surprise.”

“Me too,” she assured him, “completely by surprise. I’ll come up with excuses for the rest of the summer, you know, I’ve twisted my ankle or –” 

Fitz was already shaking his head when he interrupted her. “No, Jemma, you should – I mean, when he asks, you should dance with him. It’ll keep them from looking at us more closely, right? It’s a good idea.”

Her heart sunk, and she shifted his hold so that she had one hand curled around his, meaning that their hands were alternating in a sort of affectionate knot. “But I don’t _want_ to dance with Milton. I just want you.”

Eyes downcast, her mind was still spinning with alternate courses of action when Fitz used two fingers to lift her chin and pressed their lips together. All of the worries that had swarmed her on the dance floor melted away, and she curled her fingers around the buttons of his shirt. She found it rather fascinating how such a simple action could change so much – from anxiety to calm, from friendship to romance. To her amusement, when he leaned away again he let out a satisfied hum.

“Just ‘cause you’re dancing with him in front of everyone else,” Fitz murmured, tucking hair behind her ear, “doesn’t mean that I dunno where _we_ are. Okay?”

Jemma nodded and then wrapped her arms around his waist for a hug. Something about just being held by Fitz made her feel unspeakably peaceful. “Any time I’m dancing with Milton,” she whispered, tucking her head beneath Fitz’s chin, “I’ll be wishing I was dancing with you, anyway.” 

“Well, I don’t like dancing, so –” He let out a squawk when she poked him in the side, and then finished wrapping his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her head. “But I ‘preciate the thought.”

Only another few moments passed before she had to reluctantly separate from Fitz and return to her parents. But when she sat down again, she did so with a genuine smile at the others gathered around their table. Unbeknownst to everyone else, today had changed Jemma’s life – and she couldn’t have been happier about it.

 

\-----

 

Going steady, Jemma discovered, had the potential to be even more fun than spending all her time working on the science project.

Which is not to say that she and Fitz were ever truly slacking on their studies – they turned out to both be adroit multitaskers. Particularly when said tasks involved science, longing glances, and/or kissing. Jemma still felt like she wasn’t the best at flirting (or at least, she felt awkward every time she attempted it), but Fitz’s eager and willing response to each one of her forays meant that she kept trying. She especially liked embarrassing him and watching either his cheeks or his ears get progressively redder, and took it upon herself to conduct miscellaneous experiments in prompting these responses.

One that earned her a particularly excellent reaction was when she placed her hand high on his thigh while they were talking through a mechanical problem. Leaning on him in this way seemed on the outside innocent enough, but after about ten minutes Fitz nearly fell out of his stool to get away from her. Grinning, Jemma watched as he sped out the cabin door to get them cold sodas from the kitchen, and then vowed internally to figure out how to get him to repeat that reaction whenever possible. She didn’t know what exactly appealed to her about Fitz stammering awkwardly when she touched him, but appealing she certainly found it.

Overall, she was especially gratified by his sweetness as a boyfriend. Despite the secrecy surrounding their relationship beyond only a congenial friendship, Fitz managed to make her feel special any time they were together. Often, he did so just by giving her shy, adoring little smiles, or hesitant but sincere compliments. In part, he had more opportunity to do so once they began going steady because she started wearing skirts or dresses to his cabin a few times a week. His eyes always tended to wander from their work a little more on those days, but, well... she couldn’t deny that that was at least partly the point. 

In some ways, their romance felt so similar to their friendship that Jemma almost forgot that things had changed. The main difference, of course, was the kissing. And at that they continued experimenting whenever they could spare the time – which happened, possibly, much more often than it should. Her favorite moments were when they became lost in each other on one of the wall-adjacent workbenches, Fitz holding her legs sideways over his lap, her hands buried in his hair, and their lips moving searchingly, ardently together. When they inevitably found themselves tangled together like that over an hour after they’d begun, she wondered how they had managed to keep apart for so much of the summer to begin with.

After a few days in which they got significantly too little work done because they were occupied with exploring things decidedly human and not animatronic, Jemma decided to implement new workshop rules. They were never going to finish the Golden Retriever if they spent the next month and a half kissing – much as she would very much enjoy it. Chiefly, she insisted that they spend as much time working in public as they could manage it without actually appearing to be collaborating. It would be tricky, in part because they’d mostly moved to the practical part of their experiment as opposed to the theoretical, but she was convinced it was for the best. When Fitz pouted grumpily at the suggestion, she pointed out that being seen together more often in public might better throw people off the scent of their budding romance. She was already worried that they’d been spending too much time sequestered in his cabin together as it was. With a low sigh, he agreed to find ways for them to take some of their work with them onto the grounds or by the lake. And then they spent a good half an hour snogging intensely against one of the steel worktables.

About a week and a half passed wherein Jemma found herself more and more smitten with her boyfriend. Fitz could go from arguing with her about measurements and scent sensors to making her dizzy with kisses in two seconds flat. To be fair, usually she was the one who instigated such topic shifts, as he was still oddly shy about initiating anything more than handholding, although he always reciprocated immediately and enthusiastically.

 

\------

 

One morning, she spent the time after breakfast doing a painting class with her parents on the resort’s front lawn. Painting wasn’t usually her oeuvre, but it was a vastly improved family activity over the merengue lessons, and she was mostly pleased with the watercolor she’d ended up with – a sunrise over treetops. As was usually the case when they spent the mornings apart, she and Fitz had set a time after lunch to meet. Instead of at the cabin, today they were meeting behind Mack’s garage; they needed more scrap parts for their next prototype. 

With her neatly-rolled painting in hand, Jemma slipped through the garage and offices, mind a million miles away as she mulled over her next adjustment to the olfactory sensors. As she approached the back door, though, the sound of Mack’s exasperated voice caught her attention.

“Fitz, you’re not exactly Connery,” he exclaimed over the sound of metal parts clanking nearby. “I can tell something’s different.”

Jemma slowed to a stop just before the exit, reluctant to interrupt what sounded like a fight.

“Nothing’s changed, Mack,” came Fitz’s disgruntled voice, echoing slightly, making Jemma think that he was likely leaning into the dumpster. “We’re partners.”

Mack let out a short groan. “Okay, look, if you wanna pretend this is _West Side Story_ , I can’t stop you. But the people who come to this place – they get real mean, real fast, when it comes to their daughters.”

Fitz’s rummaging stopped. “I’d never hurt Simmons. Ever.”

“I guarantee your definition of hurt and _their_ definition of hurt are miles apart.” 

Silence reigned for a few moments, and, cheeks burning, Jemma squared her shoulders to finally make herself known – but Fitz spoke again before she could move.

“You don’t understand. It’s not like those – those – the others. Other people. She’s my best friend.” Something heavy dropped into the bottom of the dumpster. “And I wouldn’t even be making this without her. She’s a proper genius.”

Mack sighed, and she heard what sounded like a hand patting something covered in cloth. “Science is one thing, buddy – romance is a whole other ball game.”

“What’s baseball got to do with it?”

That, Jemma thought, sounded like the perfect moment for her to interrupt, so she plastered a smile on her face and stepped over the threshold. “Hi,” she said brightly, looking from one to the other as they turned. “Sorry I’m a bit late.” 

Mack gave her a weary smile, while Fitz’s whole face lit up at the mere sight of her, and her own smile became that much more genuine.

“Simmons!”

“Hey Jemma,” Mack said, sliding his eyes over to where Fitz was clambering off the edge of the dumpster. Letting out a low sigh, he shook his head and moved towards the office. “I’ve gotta get back to work. Just let me know what you’re taking when you go, okay?” 

“Absolutely,” she chirped, looking to Fitz, who was busily wiping his hands on his jeans.

He stared over her shoulder for a few moments, waiting for the sound of Mack’s heavy footsteps to fade away. A couple seconds passed, and Jemma nibbled at her bottom lip, raising an eyebrow at her boyfriend. The distant sound of a latch clicking galvanized Fitz into action, and with two strides, he wrapped his arms around her waist and met her lips in a slow, deep kiss. His fingers slipped up above the waist of her jeans, skimming beneath the edge of her tied shirt ends, and as she crossed her arms behind his head, she almost dropped her painting. They’d kissed so many times by now that she’d lost count, but the way his mouth moved against hers still fascinated her. It was a true mystery how someone so socially awkward could make her so weak in the knees with little more than his lips and tongue.

“Morning,” he murmured at last, barely breaking from her mouth, and she laughed quietly. 

“It’s not morning.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking as if he just waking up. “Right, well. Hi, then.”

“Hi,” she breathed against his lips before capturing them again with her own, and he hummed as he tightened his hold on her waist. After a minute or so passed, Jemma moved back, sliding her spare hand around to press lightly on his chest. “Someone could come back here,” she pointed out, grinning at the near-pout that flashed across his face. “And we have work to do.”

Fitz sighed, and reluctantly stepped back. “No one ever comes back here anyway, ‘cept for us,” he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes.

“And whenever they need to scrap something. Not the _best_ make-out spot.”

He grumbled, eyes trailing down over her legs below the hem of her shorts, and then turned towards the dumpster. A grin flashed across her face, and she couldn’t stop herself from making a little hop as she followed after him.

“So we’re just best friends now, is it?” 

Fitz halted and turned to frown back at her in unadulterated confusion. “What?” 

Jemma grinned and tilted her head innocently. “I heard you talking to Mack –”

“What,” he exclaimed, continuing around to the other edge of the dumpster, “again? Is that just what you do, eavesdrop and then tease me about it later?” 

“Maybe.” He rolled his eyes back at her, and stepped back up onto the box he had been using to reach over the side of the scraps container. “That was quite sweet, what you said to him,” she continued, stepping forward. 

Glancing at her, he twisted his mouth up in a funny little half-smile. “I meant it, every word. Although...” he trailed off, gaze softening as he watched her. “Yeah, you’re a bit more than my best friend.”

“I should think,” Jemma retorted lightly, absently adjusting the knot on the front of her shirt.

“What’s that?” Fitz gestured at the rolled-up painting she had in her hand, and then reached for something in the pile of metal.

“Oh, I made it this morning!” Unfurling the painting, she held it out so he could see the watercolor tree line and sunrise. “I thought – I mean, it’s probably silly, and you don’t have to, but I thought maybe you might like to have it for your workshop. Just to give it a bit of color. Or not,” she said in a rush, having not been at all nervous about giving this to Fitz until the second she started talking about it. “It’s just nonsense.”

Fitz patiently waited for her to finish rambling, his hand twisting the new metal part in between his fingers, as a disbelieving smile spread across his face. “Did you make that for me?”

“No,” she blurted, cheeks heating up, and then realized there was no reason for her to _not_ have painted it for him. “I mean, I... not really? I just... like sunrises. And I thought you might... like something for your cabin. You’re always saying what a dump it is, so....” Jemma let herself trail off, automatically rolling the painting back up again to give herself something to do, and then shrugged.

With a little exhale, Fitz reached out to tug her close enough that he could bend down and kiss her again. It was an odd angle, with him being even taller than normal, and Jemma smiled against his lips.

“Course I wanna hang it up,” he said, straightening and giving her hand a squeeze. “I think it’s great.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he assured her, and she noticed that the back of his ears were slightly pink. “Dunno the last time someone ever made me a present like that. Thanks, Jemma.” 

“You’re welcome,” she chirped, excitement zipping through her chest at his response. Fitz did not tend to tell her things just to placate her.

She neatly tucked the poster into a corner of the cardboard box Fitz was using to collect parts, and then hopped up on a nearby wooden crate to join her boyfriend in hunting through engine scraps.

When Jemma arrived at his cabin the next day, her painting had been carefully affixed to the right-hand wall – the one directly opposite from where Fitz usually worked.

 

\------

 

A few days later, Jemma traipsed happily towards the edge of the lake with two books tucked under one arm and a beach towel tucked under the other. Since her lab partner and boyfriend would be otherwise occupied all day, she planned to spend it under an umbrella by the water, alternating between a mystery novel and re-reading one of the textbooks she had brought from the D.C. library.

As she passed by one of the gatherings of trees that separated the staff residences from those of the guests, she heard a rustle in nearby leaves. Before she could turn, a hand wrapped around her wrist, and she shrieked as she was tugged backwards.

“Hey, shh, it’s just me,” Fitz said hurriedly, letting her go once she was standing behind a tree trunk with him. He kept one hand held behind his back, but she was too busy trying to slow the frantic beating of her heart to pay that any attention. 

“ _UGH_ , Fitz!” She whacked him on the shoulder with her towel. “Don’t _do_ that, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Sorry,” he eked out, reaching haltingly between them. “Can I, erm – hug you?”

“Oh, you better,” she shot back, curling into his chest and letting out another noise of annoyance. “Bloody _hell_ , Fitz.”

He rubbed his free hand over where her shoulders were bared by her halter-top, leaning his cheek against her head. “I’m sorry, Jemma, I didn’t think. I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” With a small huff, she stepped away, peering up at where his striking blue eyes were still open wide in alarm. “Oh, I forgive you, Fitz, really,” she murmured, and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, what did you want? I thought Nathanson had you all day.”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, glancing out at the resort grounds from which he’d pulled her. “I was just looking for you, and didn’t want anyone to see us.”

“Well, I don’t think me screaming seems to have gotten anyone’s attention,” Jemma deadpanned, arching an eyebrow at him. “But it’s not as if they don’t know that we’re friends, what do we need to hide for?”

Fitz’s mouth ticked up in a bashful smile, and he finally removed his other hand from where he’d been holding it behind his back: In his fist, he held a small bouquet made up of a few daisies, some violets, and three large yellow roses. 

“Wanted to give you these,” he replied quietly. “Didn’t want ‘em to wilt before I could.” 

“Oh,” she breathed, draping her towel over the books so she could take the little bouquet from him. “Fitz. Where ...?” 

“Housekeeping had some extras from the deluxe cabins.” His smile wavered slightly. “If I had time to go into town, I’d buy you real ones myself, but –”

“What,” she retorted, “are these fake? What makes them less real?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, y’know what I mean.”

“I do not.” Jemma stepped forward and gently tapped the back of the hand holding the flowers against his chest. “My boyfriend went out of his way to get me flowers. That’s quite... romantic. Wherever they came from.” 

A soft smile spread across his face, and he gave her a shy little shrug. “Right, good.” 

“Although maybe next time,” she continued, “don’t scare the hell out of me first.”

Fitz’s expression switched at once into distinct worry. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and she immediately began shaking her head. “It was stupid –”

“Oh, Fitz, stop that,” she interrupted, stretching up to brush her lips against his. Jemma froze, looking quickly over her shoulder towards the resort’s main grounds. “Is there anyone –?”

“No one’s there,” he assured her quickly, and she let out a relieved puff of air before returning to him.

“Good. And, just, I don’t want you to do it again, but don’t beat yourself up over it, either, okay? I promise, all I’m going to remember is that you brought me flowers.” Giving him a warm smile, she studied his face for agreement, but all she saw was apprehension. With another quick glance around to make sure they were alone, this time Jemma reached up for a slower kiss, a deeper one, the kind she’d rapidly figured out made Fitz’s brilliant mind short-circuit. When she parted from him this time, he took a few seconds to open his eyes again, dazedness now distinctly coloring his expression. “You’re a very good boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he breathed, blinking his gaze back into focus.

She grinned and stepped away, towards the edge of the trees. “Now go on, you’re keeping Nathanson waiting.”

“Right,” he said, a frown creasing his brow as he glanced at his gold watch. “Aw _shite_ , I’m late.” 

“Just tell him it was my fault,” Jemma called over her shoulder, throwing her boyfriend a grin before continuing her interrupted progress towards the lake.

With the humidity at a near-record daytime low of 50% percent, the other guests were outside in full force today. Fitz was lucky to have caught her attention when he had, she thought to herself, because after only a few more steps towards the lake, other guests were plentiful on the grass. Catching sight of a couple of fathers pretending to chase after their giggling toddlers, Jemma grinned, and promptly nearly crashed into someone who was apparently trying to get her attention.

“Hey there,” Milton said, familiar smarmy-yet-sympathetic grin in place as he pretended to chuff her on the shoulder. If she weren’t mistaken, a glob of his hair gel peeked out from where it had slid to the edge of his white shirt collar. “You sure are in a hurry.” 

“It’s a lovely day,” Jemma responded as she continued forward and intentionally avoided meeting his eyes. “And I’m at a thrilling part of my book. I think Poirot’s finally cracked it.”

Clueless as ever to her social cues, Milton shoved his hands into the pockets of his overly tight shorts and matched her pace. “Who?” 

Her lips ticked up in a terse smile. “Never mind. Can I help you, Milton?”

“Where’d you get those from?”

Jemma blinked down at where he was pointing at her little bouquet, and she swallowed. “Housekeeping.” 

He nodded. “Rad.”

Awkward silence fell between them as she continued toward her destination of the lakeside chairs, hoping he’d eventually get distracted and leave her alone.

“Sooooo,” Milton started, and Jemma bit back a sigh. “What’s it like living in the capital? Must be outta sight.” 

“It’s nice,” she replied, pausing to stretch onto her tiptoes and see if she could spot an empty seat, preferably next to a table.

“You got a guy there?”

Jemma stumbled as she landed back onto her heels, looking around at Milton with wide eyes. “What?” 

“You just always seem to have something else on your mind.” He shrugged and adjusted his tennis visor. “Can’t be dating anyone here, so I thought –” 

“No,” she said flatly, and turned to hurry towards a newly vacated seat.

“Why not? You sure are pretty enough.” She could practically hear him giving her a simpering smile while following behind her over the grass. 

Her nose wrinkled as she made it to her selected chair and dropped her towel onto the end to claim her space. “I – thanks, Milton. But I’m not... I suppose I’m not ready for... that... yet.”

When she looked up from setting her books down, she caught a glimpse of distinct disappointment on his face. “Oh.” 

“I’m going to go get a drink,” she said, fidgeting with the stems of her flowers. “See you at dinner?”

With a gormless blink, he nodded. “Ah, yeah, right. See ya later, Jemma.” After looking awkwardly around at the other carousing guests, Milton plodded back in the direction from which they’d just come.

Sighing, Jemma watched for a few seconds and gave her head a small shake. Hopefully, that would finally give Milton the final push to leave her alone once and for all. She honestly didn’t know how to be more clear that she wasn’t interested in him – other than coming right out and saying it, that is. Her eyes fell on her bouquet again, and a soft smile teased at the corner of her mouth. Honestly, Milton would never have stood a chance next to Fitz anyway, even if she had at any point been interested in him.

After laying the flowers gently on top of her books, Jemma stepped away from her chair, paused, and then turned back to pluck one of the daisies off of the paperback’s cover. Tucking the flower behind her ear, she nibbled on her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing as she traipsed around the other chairs towards the refreshments stand. She felt a bit silly, but she was so touched by Fitz’s gesture that she couldn’t help but act as smitten with him as she felt. Besides, no one else ever had to know quite how starry-eyed she was behaving – none of the the resort guests knew that she had any reason to be acting like a doe-eyed romantic. 

On her way to the drinks stand, she passed by a group of girls going in the opposite direction, drinks in hand. Part of their conversation washed over her, and she had to stop herself from very obviously rolling her eyes. 

“I’ve made my selection!” 

“Don’t be so loud –!”

“In three weeks, I’m going to seduce Davis!”

“If he’ll even have you,” one of them taunted, and Jemma had to dodge as a wide-brimmed hat came swinging past her to whack against another girl’s arm.

“Oh _please_ , none of these guys are gonna turn that down.” 

“ _No_ guy turns down –”

“I can’t believe you had a selection process,” another said, and Jemma could only barely hear the response.

“Gotta be the right guy!” 

By then, Jemma had made her way to the end of the line for freshly squeezed lemonade, and, crossing her arms, gave her head a small shake. She couldn’t ever fathom being quite so cavalier about something so private. As she took one step forward in the dirt, following the paunchy father figure in front of her, and a light breeze swept over the edge of the lake. Her hand came up automatically to make sure that her flower was still tucked securely into her hair. 

Blinking, she turned to glance at the shrinking backs of the gaggle of girls. Weeks ago, their lewd speculation about which boys they wanted to have sex with had seemed wildly overblown. Now that Jemma had Fitz, however, the idea of losing her virginity at summer camp seemed a lot less farfetched and, dare she allow herself to think it, almost romantic.


	7. Chapter 7

With blinds drawn over the dining hall’s windows, the light was low enough to make the room feel like it had been enchanted by a sleepy twilight. Leaning back in her chair, Jemma rested her book on the edge of the dining table, the laminate surface looking oddly vacant without its usual cloth and place settings. As dedicated as she was to getting ahead on her reading for the upcoming school year, she had to admit that this atmosphere was not especially conducive to working – particularly because Fitz kept having her go stand in various spots around the hall. 

In a few days, Koenig’s Mountain House was hosting an exchange of sorts with another luxury resort located around the side of the mountain. A whole bus of guests – adults and teenagers alike – would be driven here for a dance, and as such, special preparations needed to be made. Fortunately, Jemma and Fitz’s secret project was coming along swimmingly, with her sensor finally having sent strong enough signals to his test gear mechanisms that they moved independently. So when Nathanson informed Fitz that he had two days to redesign the entire lighting concept in the dining hall, at least he and Jemma wouldn’t really be losing any days of work. Besides, Fitz had said that he only needed one afternoon to alter the lights, as long as he wasn’t disturbed – even if he didn’t like being given the orders last minute. (Jemma knew he just didn’t like it when Nathanson gave him orders to begin with, but she chose not to point that out.) 

To ensure other guests and staff wouldn’t interfere and delay Fitz’s work, they had put handwritten “do not disturb” signs on all the doors, and the blinds were closed to simulate nighttime. Most of the other guests were happily romping about the grounds and lakeside anyway, as the weather outside was especially spectacular, and would likely have no interest in coming anywhere near the main building until dinnertime.

“Jemma,” Fitz mumbled around a screwdriver as he descended his ladder for possibly the fiftieth time in the past three hours. “I need you.” 

Her lips ticked up at the corners, and she neatly slotted her tasseled bookmark in between the pages she’d just been reading. “Where?” 

He hopped onto the floor, shoved the screwdriver into his jeans pocket, and then reached for the ladder’s legs. “To the right of table three.”

Smoothing the teal fabric of her skirt as she went, Jemma traipsed cheerfully to her instructed spot, planted her feet, and turned back towards her boyfriend. “Here?”

“Perfect.” Fitz squinted at her, peered up at the ceiling rigging, and then dragged the ladder over to whichever light he thought needed adjusting.

Although it was not the most exciting afternoon activity of which Jemma could think, at least she was learning more about what he did for the resort. When he wasn’t concentrating, Fitz was also able to chat, and she learned that he had initially managed to get the job at Koenig’s thanks to Mack’s recommendation. She had yet to suss out how he and Mack had met to begin with, but she considered this progress nonetheless. 

“Done!” He slid down the back of the ladder to land on his feet with a clumsy thud. “You’re a gem.”

“Literally.” She smiled sweetly at him, swaying from side to side, and he rolled his eyes.

“Should’ve seen that one coming.” As she took a step forward, he held one hand towards her palm out. “Hold on, don’t move.” With a few quick strides, he reached his record booth and set about turning on the sound system. They both winced at a loud screech, but the music floated over the speakers in short order. “How’s that sound to you?” he shouted from across the hall.

An idea popped into her head, and she twisted her face an exaggerated expression of confusion. “It sounds a bit weird.”

Fitz planted his hands backwards on his hips and frowned at her. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, successfully sounding worried and not sly, “you should probably come over here.”

Hopping into a brief jog, he drew even with her, and stared upwards as he listened intently to the slow song crooning over the speakers. “Sounds fine to me.” 

“Ah,” she said, sidling up against him and slipping one hand into his, “my mistake.”

After a beat, Fitz dropped his gaze to hers, taking in the mischievous smile that she’d let spread across her face. “Oh, you liar.”

Jemma shrugged. “It sounded weird.” Twisting their hands up so that they were even with their shoulders, she grinned more widely. “Obviously, it’s fine now. How strange.” He groaned, but let her move his arm around her waist, watching as she laid her hand delicately on his shoulder. “Come on, what I taught you in the field.”

“This was all a ruse to get me to dance,” he said drily, letting her goad him into a halting waltz.

“Yup,” she replied cheerfully, and he shook his head.

After a slow start, eventually they managed to do a somewhat-graceful circle around the main dance floor, the lights shining artfully across their skin as they moved. Although Fitz was mostly concentrating on their feet, clearly determined not to step on her toes, Jemma kept her gaze fixed on his face. There was something particularly enchanting about being free to move across the floor on their own, restricted by no other pairs, by no need for pretense, by nothing other than the beat of the music.

Once they finally found a real rhythm, moving nearly seamlessly in sync with the music as it reached its crescendo, their eyes met at last, and something electric darted through Jemma’s body. At few times in her life had she ever felt so aware of her body, of all the places it was pressed against Fitz’s, and she had this bizarre flash of thought that there was something more connecting them in that moment. Something a bit frightening, something ineffable, something magnificent. 

As the music faded out, they slowed until they were standing still at the edge of the dance floor, breaths coming a little heavily and staring into each other’s eyes. Dropping her gaze to his lips, Jemma leaned forward at the same time that Fitz stretched down, and their mouths met in a soft, heated kiss. She felt something rather like lightning zip through her veins as he brushed their lips together again and again, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. Suddenly, he stiffened against her, pulling sharply away and forcing a noise of acute dissatisfaction out of her throat. 

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes darting around the hall, and Jemma sighed. 

“There’s no one there.” Gesturing with their entwined fingers, she gave him a pointed look. “Blinds and doors, remember?”

His shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Right.”

“Are you that ashamed to be seen with me?” she teased, and when Fitz met her gaze again his expression was serious. 

“No, never. I’d – I mean, if we ever... weren’t a secret, y’know, then I’d be proud to be by your side. Anywhere.”

Her breath caught at the intense navy of his eyes, and she gave him a tremulous smile. “Maybe... after the summer. After we’ve graduated secondary. We could... if you wanted, we could try to go to the same college. Or ones nearby, in the same state. Close enough to drive to.”

A brief pause hovered between them until slowly his expression lit up, one hand returning to curl gently around the back of her neck. “You’d – wanna do something like that? For me?”

“In a second,” she answered without hesitation. “You’re my best friend in the world.” He raised an eyebrow, and she leaned forward against his chest with a small smile. “And boyfriend.”

Rather than answer, Fitz tilted up her chin so that their mouths could meet again, lips ghosting softly together as they each tried to pour their feelings into the kiss. With a contented sigh, Jemma pulled back just enough for her to tuck her head into the crook of his shoulder and neck, letting her eyes flutter shut as she led him in a gentle sway to the rhythm of the new song wafting over the speakers. His hands held her close, her skirt swished against his jeans, and she wished that every night of dancing could feel even a fraction as wonderful as this did. And now she had the idea of them trying to match up their college applications together to occupy her thoughts. At the very least, they should be able to earn acceptances to colleges within the same half of a state, even if they couldn’t get into the exact same school. Logically, she knew it was a bit soon for them to be planning something that long term together, but her heart was full to bursting with the rightness of it and she couldn’t bear to deny herself or Fitz that hope for their future. 

As they turned in place, basking in each other’s presence, Jemma blinked her eyes open and just barely caught a glimpse of a door in the back corner of the hall slipping shut. She lifted her head quickly from Fitz’s chest, squinting at the dark corner. There had been no sound, and she wasn’t even sure she’d seen anything.

“You okay?” Fitz was looking worriedly at her, and after a pause, she gave him a small smile and a nod. Without being sure that there had been anyone there, there was really no point in worrying him.

 

\-----

 

When the weather was dreary, the resort could feel like a prison. Jemma felt this especially strongly whenever it poured and Fitz was busy with his paying job. Sometimes she whiled away those hours with her parents, but on this particular morning they were occupied with a marathon bridge game with the Huntzbergers. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even work on her science fair entry, in part because all of the materials were in Fitz’s cabin and in part because she was waiting on his redesign of the Golden Retriever’s legs.

Feeling at loose ends, she ambled to the resort’s miniature library, in the hopes that perhaps someone had dropped off books during the nearly seven weeks they had all been here. The dust on the door handle indicated that, perhaps predictably, no one had entered the room since the last time Jemma herself had been there. But she made a good show of studying each shelf carefully just in case, and in the end she did manage to find something to re-read after all. _Paradise Lost_ had not been her favorite assigned reading, but it would certainly be better than having to dodge Milton himself, as he’d been circling pompously around the vicinity of their parents’ bridge game for the past hour. 

As Jemma slipped back through the library door, she managed to stop herself a good foot away from crashing into someone again. This time, though, it was Elena, who was in the midst of unlocking her office. 

“Jemma!” Straightening as the lock clicked, she gave her a smile. “I have not seen you in a long time.”

“Oh, I’ve been quite busy,” Jemma replied, stepping away from the library. “And we haven’t needed the calculator.”

“No nighttime visits to staff quarters?” Elena arched an eyebrow as she swung open the door to her office, and Jemma desperately tried to fight the blush that threatened.

“We were only looking for you,” she said a touch defensively, and curled the fingers of her left hand into the hem of her forest green shirt. “We told you that.”

Elena hummed as she strode into her office, turning and gesturing for Jemma to follow. “Come in.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you –”

“ _No hay problema_ , I’ve got the time. And close the door.”

Feeling a bit like she had just been called in to speak with the principal, Jemma did as she was told. Before she could follow Elena to the two chairs at the opposite side of the room, her eyes landed on a photograph she hadn’t noticed the last time she’d been in here. The image was of a much younger Elena, arms thrown around a young man who looked to be about her age at the time. A clear family resemblance hung around the wry tilt of their mouths and the point of their chins, and Jemma’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“You have a brother?” 

Letting out something between a sigh and a low laugh, Elena dropped onto one of the armchairs. “No, that’s my cousin Francisco. He died three years ago. A little more than that, actually.”

“Oh,” Jemma exclaimed, cheeks heating instantly up, and she wrapped both hands nervously around the large book. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s okay,” Elena interrupted, “you didn’t know.”

“Still,” Jemma mumbled, moving over to lower herself sheepishly into the other chair. “I’m sorry he’s... you look quite close.” 

Glancing over at the picture, Elena let a pained smile flit across her face. “Yes. He was... _mi_   _mejor amigo_. My... best friend.” With a low exhale, she forced herself to turn back to Jemma. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. About Fitz.”

Panic fluttered through Jemma’s stomach, and she tried to carve her expression into one of disinterested curiosity. “Oh?” 

“Mack says you have been spending a lot of time together.”

“Oh, yes, well, he’s become – probably the best friend I’ve ever had, really. Speaking of best friends. Although not quite... not....” She trailed off nervously, clearing her throat and trying to ignore the urge to emphasize how much her and Fitz’s relationship was not akin to that of literal cousins. “He’s such a good person to have around when I’m working on my project, and I really like watching him work. On his repairs, and little inventions, and those things.” With a sharp breath after her ramble, Jemma couldn’t stop the relieved smile from breaking across her face. Although she had not previously had a chance to try out the cover story the two of them had worked out, she thought that had gone quite well.

Elena nodded slowly, studying her face. “Is that really all it is?” 

Jemma’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”

Leaning her elbows on her knees, Elena met Jemma’s eyes, and she had to struggle not to look away. “I saw the way he looked at you that night, after the fall. And Mack says you’re never more than five feet apart now.”

She let out an uncomfortable laugh. “What, is Mack following us or something?”

“He’s got eyes, _mi niña_. And so do the other guests. And the staff, but they wouldn’t say anything. Any one of them gets in trouble, it could always come back onto the others.” With a low sigh, Elena leaned back in the chair, tapping one hand against her black trousers. “Jemma, I could fire Fitz if I wanted to, but I won’t. I like him. And I like you. And I promise I won’t tell anyone else. Other than my husband, who might as well already know.”

Twisting her fingers together over her lap, Jemma set her jaw. “We’re not going steady. Or – or anything that you’re implying.”

Elena let out an aggravated noise and rolled her eyes. “I just need you to understand what you’re getting into by dating someone like Fitz.”

Jemma couldn’t help the indignant frown that creased her brow at that, and she let out a sharp _tsk_. “Someone _like Fitz_?”

“Someone at the bottom of the food chain. Around here....” Elena glanced away, pursing her lips. “I’ve been coming here for a long time, you know. A couple times when I was a kid, my parents sent me from Colombia to stay with Francisco and his parents for the summer. Keep me busy. His mom was the head chef here.” A small laugh escaped her throat, and her eyes trailed back to the framed picture. “We loved it. But I’ve seen what happens when kids like Fitz try anything with girls like you. It’s not pretty.” At that, Elena met Jemma’s troubled gaze. “ _Especially_ someone like you. Your father’s an important man –” 

“And a good man,” she interjected, bristling at the implication that her father wouldn’t like Fitz just because he was poor. 

“Still,” Elena argued. “He has his job to think about. And the people here have their reasons for not liking Fitz’s family.”

“What? Why?”

With a small inhale, Elena broke her gaze. “I really... that’s not for me to say. But I know that Fitz is a good boy. He’ll grow up to be a good man.”

“I know. Of course I know that.” Jemma dropped her eyes to her knees, unsure of how to process whatever Elena was trying to tell her. “He’s my best friend in the world.”

Elena let out another small sigh, and then rose to her feet, prompting Jemma to hop up after her, confused by the abrupt movement. “Try to keep it that way, then – and _por el amor de Dios_ , be careful.” As she spoke, she strode over to her desk, leaving Jemma to assume that they were done and shuffle awkwardly to the door.

But she just couldn’t leave the conversation like that. The idea that other people were prejudiced against Fitz simply because he wasn’t from a wealthy family rankled at her sense of fairness, and before she could stop herself, she spun back around, hands clenched at her sides.

“I’m not going to stop spending time with Fitz just because people here won’t like it,” she declared, feeling her cheeks pink. “It’s not right, and – and – and he doesn’t deserve that.”

A manila folder now in one hand, Elena let a fond smile flash across her face. “He doesn’t. But remember that you’re not the only ones who could get hurt.” Frowning, Jemma turned and reached for the handle. “If you ever need the calculator,” Elena said over the creaking door, “just come by.”

Jemma twisted her head halfway over her shoulder, appreciative of the kind – if distracted – nod Elena gave her back. Although a non sequitur, she knew that the offer was meant to smooth the awkwardness of their conversation, to show that the older woman did not have a problem with Jemma and Fitz’s relationship outside of being concerned about the social intricacies of the upper echelons of Pennsylvanian society. 

As Jemma re-entered the main building’s lobby and common room areas, though, her discomfort didn’t ease. The idea of sitting and reading alone no longer held the appeal it had previously, and instead all she could think about was seeing Fitz. The thought coming to her more as instinct than conscious decision, she knew that being around her boyfriend would ease the worries planted there by the adults who clearly understood nothing about their relationship. She and Fitz were different from what the others expected, she thought as she searched out an umbrella and a plastic bag for her book. Eventually, everyone else would see that, too.

 

\------

 

The storm had not eased while Jemma was in the main building, rain making the grass slick and treacherous to cross. Although she stayed to the paths as much as she was able while darting across the grounds to Fitz’s cabin, she still nearly slipped more than once, clutching her umbrella in one hand and hugging the plastic-wrapped book to her chest.

Having expected to have to wait on his porch for at least an hour before he was off shift, Jemma was surprised to see a familiar figure at Fitz’s cabin. In part, her surprise was because said figure was stretched through the ceiling-to-floor windows on the second floor, halfway onto the balcony and soaked to the bone. Fitz was busily banging a hammer onto something on the floor, and as he swiped hair out of his face he caught a glimpse of where Jemma was standing on the nearby path and staring up at him in open-mouthed confusion.

“Don’t come in,” he shouted, pushing up so he could see her better. “You could be killed!”

“What?!” she yelled back, and then spluttered as the wind picked up and doused her face with a wall of rain.

“The porch roof nearly fell through, and one of the posts is loose. I’m trying to fix it, but it’s not safe!”

“But you’re up there!”

He stared back at her, briefly reaching up to swipe soaked hair out of his eyes. “Well, yeah.”

“Let me help you!” Fitz began to shake his head immediately, and she let out a distinct sound of annoyance. “We can fix it together! It’ll be faster, and safer, and I’m already soaked to the bloody bone anyway!”

A strong gust of wind battered against the house, sending a broken, loose roof tile flying over Fitz’s head and down onto the grass nearby. They both ducked for cover, and, upon resurfacing, Jemma threw the hand holding the umbrella out to the side as if to say _see_? 

Fitz sighed and rubbed his face. “I – okay. But be careful.” 

She made another dismissive sound and stalked pointedly up the porch steps, collapsing her effectively useless umbrella and storing both it and the blessedly still-dry library book in the workshop. The fact that he was so concerned about her safety while showing no regard for his own was ludicrous.

Once they were working together, progress was slow but steady, and certainly improved upon Fitz’s solo efforts. How he’d managed to do any of this by himself was beyond her, and once they were inside she had every intention of telling him exactly that. Jemma took Fitz’s place leaning out of the window while he fetched the ladder he’d had leaning on the adjacent outer wall. The work was wet, difficult, and dangerous, with Fitz nearly slicing open his hand when he had to catch himself on a rough plank of wood. Finally, he gave the porch roof a hard shove to determine that it was solid enough that it was unlikely to collapse at any moment (and possibly bring the whole cabin down with it), and declared they were finished. 

Jemma was already well on her way to mopping up the water on the floor by the window once he traipsed upstairs, shaking out the hand he’d cut. “You should wash that out,” she ordered promptly, pushing herself to her feet as he blinked at her. 

“It’s alright,” he muttered, and then rolled his eyes as she strode over and pushed him towards his bathroom. A small room next to the staircase, it wasn’t quite large enough for them both, so Jemma stood outside it as Fitz ran cool water over his palm and winced. 

“It’s not alright,” she said, tutting as she got a better glimpse of the raw pink strip of flesh that the wood had damaged. “And I think....” Jemma trailed off as she leaned over the sink to squint at his palm, ignoring his huff as their shoulders bumped hard together. “You’ve got some splinters in there. I need tweezers and antibacterial cream.” When she looked up again, Fitz just stared back at her. “For God’s sake, do I have to go back to my cabin to get –”

“Oh,” he blurted, interrupting, “wait, no, hang on.” He ducked down to open the cabinet beneath the sink, tugging out rolls of toilet paper until he found a maroon, zippered bag. “Mum makes me pack this every year,” he explained, dropping it onto the sink-adjacent counter and tugging open the zipper with his uninjured right hand. “Dunno what’s in it.” 

Jemma groaned and pulled the bag towards her, efficiently picking through the neatly packed first aid essentials until she found miniature tweezers as well as an unopened tube of Neosporin and a Band-Aid. With some cajoling, floor-strewn-clothes-shoving, and eye-rolling, she managed to convince Fitz to sit on the floor next to her, both of them leaning against the right side of his bed and facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You need to tell someone about that porch, Fitz,” she admonished quietly, holding his left hand close to her face so she could peer and pick at the fine splinters beneath his skin. He cringed as she worked, alternating between staring out the window and examining her progress.

“Oh, they know,” he retorted, tone dry. “Why d’you think Nathanson let me have this cabin? He barely thinks I’m worth the pay, he bloody well wouldn’t let me have something this big if anyone else could live here. I think he only lets it pass ‘cause he hopes it’ll collapse one night and rid him of me forever.”

“Fitz!” Jemma stared up at him with wide eyes. “That’s terrible! You don’t _really_ think he thinks that.”

Fitz shrugged. “Dunno. Wouldn’t be surprised. But, yeah, he knows this cabin’s unfit. It’s not this bad, usually. I like it.” 

“I’m going to spend the rest of the summer worrying about you sleeping up here,” she mumbled, glaring at him over his palm. “You should request a new cabin.”

“We need the workshop,” he pointed out, and her shoulders drooped. “And summer’s more’n half over, I don’t wanna move now.” 

Sadness pulled at Jemma’s chest with that thought, and she was quiet for a few moments. Somehow, it felt like hardly any time had passed since she had first arrived at Koenig’s, even though she had been convinced she would hate it here on that first day. Funny how one person can change everything.

After a bit of clumsy tweezers wielding, she managed to draw out the largest splinter, causing Fitz to inhale sharply. “Sorry,” she murmured, and then bent her head down to press her lips against the roughened skin. When she glanced up again, he was watching her with an expression that made her suck in a breath. A cross between fascination and infatuation, it was a look he’d never turned on her before, at least as far as she’d noticed. 

Feeling a little thrown by the openness of Fitz’s affection, she looked back at his hand, nibbling at her bottom lip. “You know, I was talking to Mrs. Rodriguez – um, Elena, earlier. Before I came here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She was... I think she knows. About us going steady,” Jemma said quietly, and Fitz’s whole body stiffened in panic.

“What?!” 

“I didn’t confirm it, she just sort of... talked,” she continued quickly, “and she promised she wasn’t going to fire you.”

Slumping back against the bed, he let his head drop onto the mattress and puffed out a breath of relief. “Thank God,” he said, flinching as Jemma poked at the last splinter. “I _need_ this job.”

“I know. I tried to, um, throw her off, but....” She paused, sighing. “I’m not the best liar. Although I’m not sure if she was trying to help us or not. She said –” Cutting herself off, Jemma bit her lip and bent her head over Fitz’s hand. As much as she desperately wanted to know the history to which Elena had alluded, he had always studiously avoided specifics about his past – other than stories about his mum. 

“What?” Fitz was looking warily at her, and she shifted around so she was angled more towards him.

“How do you know Elena? Or, well, Mack? I don’t know which –”

“She told you.” His voice was oddly flat, colored with a tinge of cold disappointment, and she blinked in the stiffness of his words. 

“No, she – said it wasn’t her place to say. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

A small vein of tension released from his shoulders, and his lips thinned. “Might as well. I just – I’d rather pretend it never happened,” he muttered, eyes dropping to where she had just dabbed the antibacterial cream on his hand. “Met them both at the same time. They came to my house after school one day, ‘cause – they were looking for my dad. It was a few years ago, he’d been gone for ages by then but I guess it was his last known address. I hadn’t seen him since I was ten. Mack was helping Elena look....” He paused, squeezing his hand into a fist once Jemma had patted a Band-Aid securely onto the injured area. “My dad killed her cousin, Elena’s cousin. Hit and run. He was drunk. I didn’t know how to help them, I wanted to –”

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she interrupted, reaching out to take his hand and thread their fingers together. “You were what, fourteen?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice a little gruffer than it had been. He kept his gaze trained on the window, rain still beating down against the glass and reflected blurrily in the grey-blue of his eyes. “Mum knew something, though – she’d heard something from a friend of a friend. So, they found him. Brought him to trial, and it was....” Pausing to lick his lips, his grip on her hand tightened. “It was bad. Got back to his drinking and past, um, behavior. They called me and Mum as character witnesses. I had to get up there and talk about... I mean, things I barely even remember. Stuff he used to say to me when I was a kid.”

“Like what?” Jemma was spellbound by the horror of hearing his story, at once glad that he was telling her but also terribly sad that he even had such a story to tell.

Fitz gave his head a sharp shake, angling his head away so she could only barely see half his face. “Stupid, worthless – not smart enough, y’know. That sort of thing. He yelled a lot.” 

“Fitz,” she breathed again, and tugged his arm closer so she could hug it against her chest. “That’s _awful_. And not true –”

“It wasn’t much,” he continued, speaking over her, “but it helped the prosecution win their case. He’ll be in jail for a long time. And I’m glad I did it.” He stated the last almost as if he was still trying to convince himself. “I wish I... I told Mrs. Rodriguez I was sorry for what he’d done, not that it mattered. You can’t bring someone back by saying sorry.” Unsure of how to respond, Jemma leaned in to press two kisses to his cheek, and then leaned her forehead against his temple, closing her eyes. Fitz sniffled. “The press was bloody awful. Mum talked about moving for a while, but we couldn’t afford it unless we moved in with my Aunt Liz. I couldn’t – I had to be careful walking to school for a while. That was around when Mack came by, asking if I needed a job or something. We’d sorta gotten to talking during the trial, and... yeah. That’s that. Came up here for the first time a couple months later.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, sliding her hand around his shoulder. 

“Mrs. Rodriguez deserves the sorrys, not me. She lost her cousin because... because of _my_ dad.”

“But you had to live through all of that,” she argued, trying to meet his eyes. “You don’t deserve that, none of it. It was very brave of you to testify.”

“I had to do something.” Fitz did meet her gaze then, his eyes shimmering even in the dim, mid-storm daylight. “And I barely knew him, anyway. He hadn’t been around for a long time.”

“Good riddance,” she blurted, cheeks heating up at the way he stared at her then. “Anyone who would say things like that to – to a child, let alone their own son... they _should_ be in jail.” Giving him a sad smile, she leaned their foreheads together. “Especially you. You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, I don’t care what that awful man said.”

Before she’d quite finished her last word, Fitz reached up to cup her jaw, turn her head towards him, and kiss her deeply. With only a brief, muffled noise of surprise, Jemma eagerly kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that since you got here,” he confessed when they broke away for air, and Jemma let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. If this was his way of changing the subject, she supposed she would let him.

“Seriously?” she murmured, and he gave her a mildly bashful smile as he nodded.

“Rain’s a good look for you.”

“Oh, _really_.” Pushing damp hair behind her ear, Jemma shifted over so she was straddling Fitz’s lap, his eyes navy-grey where they reflected the summer storm outside, deep and dark and following her every movement as if the world had narrowed to nothing but her. 

His focus on her was addictive, she thought, scooting in close enough that their chests were pressed together. He sought her lips, but she held away, sliding a hand up to one cheek and then the other, holding him so she could study him as she did cells beneath a microscope’s lens. As was the case with a new sample or slide, she felt like she saw in Fitz something new and old, unique and familiar, calming and exciting, all at once. The fact that he might not see in himself what she saw so clearly made her chest ache.

“What?” he asked, insecurity fading in behind his eyes, and she just shook her head, the wet cotton of her shirt sticking slightly as she moved her arm. 

“I don’t....” She trailed off, not sure what she was looking for in the adoration of his expression and yet feeling that she had already found it. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, and at that Fitz surged up to press their mouths together, catching her off-guard again with a searing kiss.

A gasp feathered from her lips onto his in the second before he kissed her again, and she clung so tightly to his shoulders that she half-worried she might hurt him. Fitz didn’t complain, his own fingers squeezing tight around her waist as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Although they’d done plenty of kissing before, there was something different about this, be it the rain or the dangerous work they’d just done or Fitz’s confessions or the fact that they were leaning against his bed, alone in his bedroom. When she needed to catch her breath, she used her tongue to chase a raindrop that slithered down his jaw and over his neck, and he let out a hitched groan, hands tangling into her shirt. The taste of the rain on his skin was fascinating, she thought to herself, suckling gently at a spot just beneath his left ear. Fitz twisted his head around to meet her lips again, blindly mouthing over her skin until their mouths made proper contact.

An ache between her thighs that she’d only felt a few times before was distracting her, making her feel heated and shivery and unmoored. Thanks to an article by Albert Kinsey she’d read this past spring, she had experimented with her body more than once but without much effect. In part, she realized as she captured Fitz’s lips again, pressing in for breathless, heated kisses, her fantasy life had been nearly empty when she’d been back at home. Something about this summer, or about Fitz, or about that dirty dancing room had lit the darker, filthier corners of her mind and made her curious about things she used to think were irrelevant or that she’d only be interested in years down the line. But now, as she and Fitz clung harder to each other, she thought about how she knew exactly where and how she could relieve some of that ache – or how Fitz could for her. Oh _God_ , a part of her wanted to tangle their fingers together and press his hand against her just so, but there was no way she could ever do such a thing. Telling him what she wanted would be far too awkward, and forward, and it would be too soon; they’d barely known each other for more than a month and a half. And well-reputed, well-heeled ambassador’s daughters did not let boys do unspeakable things to them in dilapidated mountainside cabins. Even if said daughters thought doing so sounded really quite... nice.

His hand slipped up under the fabric of her shirt, fingers skimming over a patch of skin at the base of her spine that had her shivering. Jemma’s hips undulated forward without conscious intent, pressing firmly against Fitz’s lap. With a shocked gasp she realized that he was hard at the same time that his erection pushed against her center and caused white-hot pleasure to dart through her veins. Beneath her, Fitz released a startled grunt, hips twitching forward despite the fact that sitting like this gave him no real leverage to move. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but her face, his muscles tensing as if he was going to move away, but Jemma shook her head.

“No, don’t....” Again raising her hands to his face, she waited until he made reluctant eye contact before angling her hips down, deliberately this time, searching for the same electric feeling and letting out a pleased little noise when she found it. Fitz bit his lower lip, muffling another groan, and grabbed onto her bum. The desperate grip of his fingers just sent more heat spilling through her, and she rocked forward again, finding his lips as their bodies learned a very new kind of press and grind. 

Jemma’s hands couldn’t stay still, roaming over his shoulders, down his chest, up around his arms, all while she rubbed herself against his rigid cock through their jeans. As his hands encouraged her sharp rocking, Fitz kissed her dizzy, his tongue tracing patterns against hers until they were both out of air. When they finally needed to part again, she made a point to continue gyrating her hips, distracted by the low, heated sounds he made beneath her. If sex were anything like this, she might finally understand why those other girls seemed so determined to pursue it.

Suddenly, his brows drew together, his lips parted, and he froze, clutching desperately at her waist. “Jemma,” he said hoarsely, “we need to stop.”

Panting, she just stared down at him for a few seconds, still but loathe to be so. “What? Why?”

“I need....” Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and let out a slow breath. “To calm down.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she whispered, releasing her hold on him and scooting back a couple inches once he’d done the same. Blinking, she tried to think about what she should be doing to give him some space, her brain moving a hair too sluggishly. Eventually, she moved back to where she’d been sitting next to him before, but she couldn’t quite bear to separate them completely. 

As she moved, Fitz brought the leg closest to her up and wrapped his arm around it, likely as an attempt to hide his erection. The action was more than futile at this point, she thought, but chose not to say anything. Instead, Jemma curled one hand around his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder, gazing out at the pouring rain. A few seconds passed, and then she felt him press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Something tightened in her chest, and Jemma had the sense that this was the kind of moment where in the movies they’d make a romantic declaration. With the rain pattering on the roof and the deep green of the resort’s grounds stretching beyond the floor-to-ceiling balcony window, even the silence that had fallen over them felt like magic. As if while they were together, nothing could hurt them. 

Fitz curled his spare hand over hers on his arm, and a smile flitted across her face. Jemma had never felt as grateful for meeting anyone as she had her best friend, and no one’s warnings or ill-conceived biases were going to keep her away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I'm gonna pause posting this for a lil while, to allow myself time to start posting a different FS fic!


	8. Chapter 8

With gray skies came cooler weather, making the outdoors a hair more comfortable and a little less like walking through an endless sauna. One afternoon a few days following the downpour in which Jemma helped Fitz repair his cabin, she sat on one of the main building’s porch swings next to her father. Around them circled the cream of the resort’s holiday crop and their families, all slightly angled towards the illustrious Mr. Huntzberger, who owned the resort and whose loins had the unfortunate distinction of having helped to produce Milton. His behavior around her in recent days had become rather odd, in that he simultaneously seemed more interested in impressing her while also wanting less to do with her. Since him leaving her alone of his own volition meant that she needn’t dance with someone other than Fitz (even if he himself had encouraged it), Jemma had no problem with this development. 

Adjacent to the porch swing was the entrance to the main dining and dancing hall, wherein the staff was just beginning to clear away the lunch settings. From where Jemma sat sideways on the swing facing her father, she could see the sound station in the corner of the room, at which Fitz lounged while he waited for their group to disperse. As was his usual order, he had to maintain the “entertainment” of the guests until they had all meandered off to other parts of the resort, even though the lunch hours had long since concluded. 

Laughter bubbled up from the group as Jemma’s mother finished telling one of her favorite stories about Jemma’s childhood, when she’d tried to diagnose the illness of their nanny’s old cat. Having heard the story about a hundred times, Jemma herself had drifted off, and was gazing at Fitz over her father’s shoulder, knees hugged to her chest and mind a million miles away. She was thinking idly about how much she wished he could be over here, relaxing with them instead of sitting on his own, and debating whether or not she should set about putting the idea in motion. 

“That’s our Jemma,” her mother said fondly, drawing her attention back to the group. “Ever the little scientist.” 

“An analytical mind’s a great thing to have,” Mr. Huntzberger said, toothpick bobbing in his mouth as he spoke. He was taller than his son, with a shock of white hair and dark, sharp eyes. Although he seemed to be a more interesting character than his progeny, Jemma had yet to pin down what she thought of him, or of his friendship with her father.

“Just you wait, Bert,” Jemma’s father said, leaning over to pat her jeans-clad knee. “She might even best your boy with her little pet project.”

The group erupted into good-natured laughter, and annoyance pinged through Jemma’s chest at the fact that the rest of them – even people to whom neither she nor Milton were related – would think it so amusing that she could compete with him in a scientific contest. If they knew anything about the two of them, they would know that she far outpaced him in any and every intellectual contest one could put forth at a summer resort such as this. His only advantage was his gender. (And an odd affinity for wood carving.)

Forcing out a thin smile, Jemma slid her eyes in Fitz’s direction, only to see him frowning over at them from his workstation. Their eyes met briefly, and she darted her gaze away, oddly embarrassed by the thought of him having witnessed that slight if indirect humiliation. When she glanced up again, though, Fitz was still watching her, and he gave her a pointed headshake and emphatically rolled his eyes, as if to say “ _they’re idiots_.” Jemma’s lips tilted upwards in spite of herself as she turned back to the people on the porch, feeling more settled knowing that at least Fitz was on her side. He didn’t believe that her gender made her any less capable or intelligent, and as much as she knew this well enough on her own, it meant the world to have someone else’s support. 

“Oh, I dunno, George,” Mr. Huntzberger said, clapping his son on the back and sending him shooting forward in his chair. “My son’s got something up his sleeve. Don’t you, Milton?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, puffing out his chest self-importantly. “And Jemma’s gonna be great competition, she’s real clever.” 

Surprised – and abruptly feeling guilty for dismissing him so frequently – Jemma gave Milton a small smile.

His father chuckled, stuck a cigar in his mouth, and reached for his breast pocket. “Howard’s gonna love this.”

A small commotion drew everyone’s attention inside the dining hall, where Nathanson was now standing toe-to-toe with Fitz. “...wasting your time eavesdropping!”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Fitz bit back, “ _you_ told me to stay –”

“Pack it up,” Nathanson hissed, throwing the now-silent group of influential guests an apprehensive glance, “or pack yourself up!” 

With a quick turn and a flourish, the manager inclined his head towards the group with an overly wide smile. His eyes quickly darted around the circle, noting the lack of empty spaces. Another handful of awkward, silent seconds ticked by, until Nathanson forcibly widened his grin, half-bowed, and then strode back into the dining room. Once he was gone, Jemma could see Fitz standing stiffly next to his station, fists squeezed tight at his sides and jaw clenched.

“Mr. Huntzberger,” she said, turning on the porch swing to drop her legs over the front and look directly at the resort owner, “why aren’t staff allowed to compete in the science competition?”

“Jemma,” her mother muttered, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her own ear. “Now’s not the time.” 

“Why not?” Jemma turned again to Mr. Huntzberger, who was looking coolly back at her over the smoking tip of his Cuban. “The ones that are still in school, anyway. Like Fitz. He’s our age, why can’t he compete?” 

“Well,” Mr. Huntzberger answered with faint amusement, “it just wouldn’t be fair, would it? Our guests pay a lot of money to come here and get a certain experience. Enjoy the mountain air, have the kinds of opportunities that other people don’t get. Like getting to show off to Howard Stark. The staff don’t pay for that, they don’t get the perk. It’s called running a business.” There were approving murmurs from around the circle, but Jemma just wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms. To her side, she could practically feel her parents’ joint wariness setting in.

“But he’s working every day, proving he’s – they’re responsible,” Jemma said, quickly correcting herself when she realized her plea too clearly was aimed at Fitz alone. “They’re spending their summer working to support themselves or their families, shouldn’t that allow them the chance to be rewarded? Not earn a prize right off the bat, but – just the chance at it. Mr. Stark can choose who’s best, but this way everyone would have a fair shot.”

“He couldn’t compete anyhow,” Milton retorted, flouncing back in his plastic chair. Her cheeks warmed at how transparent her entreaty must have been if even  _Milton_ had seen through it. “He’s a criminal. Stark Industries wouldn’t –”

“He is not!” Jemma leaned forward at the edge of the swing, as if she was about to jump over and shake Milton until he took it back.

“His dad is, same thing.” Milton shrunk under Jemma’s glare, shrugging vaguely as he looked around at the others in the circle. “Like father, like son.”

A static-laced screech echoed from the dining hall’s speakers, and although when Jemma turned she didn’t see Fitz, she could hear angry footsteps stalking across the dance floor.

“Too late to change the rules now anyhow.” Mr. Huntzberger looked away from her, unconcerned by her visible distress or the palpable tension that had woven its way through the guests on the porch. “You’ve got spunk for a girl, Jemma, but sometimes things just are the way they are.”

“But they don’t have to be,” she threw back at him, pushing herself to her feet. “You need to want to make the change. And you just – you need to _care_.” Letting out a noise of frustration, she stalked towards the edge of the circle, meaning to follow after Fitz in such a way that they wouldn’t know where she was going. Her mother reached out and closed her fingers around Jemma’s wrist, her skin cold even in the afternoon’s grey warmth.

“Jemma,” her mother said, tone again in warning rather than comfort, “sit down.”

Swallowing thickly, Jemma turned back to study the impassive faces in the group, some vaguely discomfited but most looking weary of the topic. She was struck by the thought that not a single one of them could empathize with being excluded from something just because of the way they looked or where they were from. Even the women in this group likely believed themselves to be above exclusion. The realization made her sick to her stomach.

“It’s not fair,” she said at last, making sure that she was loud enough for everyone to have heard, and then shook off her mother’s grasp. “Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.” Without turning to catch her father’s certainly disapproving expression, Jemma ran across the porch and down the stairs, anger and disappointment burning through her veins.

 

\------

 

When Jemma finally ran up to Fitz’s cabin, red Cons dirt-streaked from her sprint across the grounds, she found the front door halfway open, as if he had tried to slam it shut but not gone back to fix it when the latch hadn’t caught. Slipping past the screen door, she made sure to lock the front door behind herself, and then glanced up at where she could hear pacing through the ceiling above. With a deep breath, she hurried up the stairs at the back of the cabin.

In the middle of wearing a path through the clothes scattered across the floor, Fitz halted as Jemma stepped onto the main landing, glancing up at her with tears shining in the corners of his eyes.

“Fitz,” she started, striding directly towards him, “don’t listen to them, they have –”

“They’re right,” he bit out, twisting his mouth to the side as he went back to pacing. “My dad, he – they don’t want someone like him on that stage, presenting to Howard bloody Stark.”

“But you’re not like him –” she tried to interject, but Fitz spoke over her, having gotten himself on a roll that he couldn’t quite seem to stop. 

“He’s a drunk, and a murderer, and for all they know, I could be _just_ like him.”

“Fitz, that’s –” 

“He’s a part of me, Jemma!” He rounded on her, holding his arms out in front of himself as if to prove what he said. “He’s in my DNA, and I - I can't bloody stand him being  _any_ part of me. But he is. How'm I supposed to be anything when all people see when they look at me is a murderer?” Blinking back tears, Jemma just shook her head, so upset by his fervent belief of things that were patently wrong that she couldn’t speak. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his dresser, he let out a hollow laugh. “He was right. Always said what no one else would. I’m not good enough, not smart enough –”

“No,” she interrupted, “that’s not true, you’re the most –”

“And then it’s oh, you’re from where?” Leaning on the dresser, Fitz let out a noise of disgust, the mirror rattling above him as he gave the drawers a good shake. “They look at me and they know, they _know_ that my mum never got past secondary, they know we can barely make ends meet because we have _his_ debts to pay back, they know that I’m never gonna get _anywhere_ because I can’t afford it! You can’t win when the world’s already dead-set against you. I’m gonna be stuck here, stuck in that ruddy town for the rest of my life, and I’m gonna rot there.”

Swallowing thickly, Jemma sucked in an uneven breath and took a step forward. “You won’t, Fitz, I know you won’t,” she said quietly, voice trembling. “You work so hard, and they’ll see that one day. Maybe not these people, but other ones, ones who aren’t so bloody blinded by their... their clubs and bridge games and galas. They’ll _see_ you for the brilliant person you are.”

Not looking at her, Fitz sniffled, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. “No. It’s like my dad always said, Jemma. The reason people treat me the way they do is ‘cause I’m nothing.”

“Fitz,” Jemma exclaimed tearfully, reaching towards him, “that’s not true! You’re _everything_!”

The sound of the cricket song seemed to rise between them, and for the first time Fitz turned to look at her. Really look at her, staring as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he pushed himself up so he was facing her.

“I’ve never known anybody like you,” he breathed, the incredulity and intensity to his gaze making something in her stomach twist. “You look at the world and you think you can make it better. If someone’s hurt, you can fix ‘em. If there’s a problem, you’re sure there’s an answer. There’s always something you can do.” He studied her face as he had the circuit board with which he’d been tinkering the day before, as if the longer he looked, the better he might understand. “You’re not scared of anything.”

Jemma let out an incredulous, slightly manic laugh. “Me?! Oh, God, Fitz, I’m scared of everything, all the time. I’m scared of who I am, I’m scared no one will ever see past what I look like to what I can _do_ , to how I can think. I’m scared I’ll be stuck watching science happen from a secretary’s desk, just because that’s the closest I’ll be able to get to changing lives.” Her breath came short, and she looked back at him, terrified about what she wanted to say but somehow still letting it ramble out of her mouth. “But more than that, more than any of that, I’m scared of you. Of the way I feel when I’m around you. Like the world finally makes sense. Like everything’s more – more interesting, more exciting when I’m with you. I’m scared of how much I want you. That I – I never want to be without you. I’m scared of walking out of this room, of leaving this resort in, God, only three weeks, and never feeling the way I do when I’m with you.”

Seconds ticked by after the last word tumbled into the space between them, with both of them panting as if they’d just sprinted there. Standing face-to-face with Fitz as he processed her horrifyingly open rant, Jemma didn’t know what to do. She’d hardly let herself think those thoughts in her own head before, let alone say them out loud, and the few seconds that passed felt interminable. Just as she began to think about trying to play it down or change the subject, desperate to avoid frightening him away, wooden boards squeaked beneath his trainers and Fitz was right up against her, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her, so fervently that she gasped into his mouth. She could barely keep herself upright, their chests crushed together and his fingers fisting into the back of her yellow cotton shirt.

As she tried to catch up, he didn’t seem to notice her surprise, focused on drinking in her kisses as if her lips were the only thing sustaining him. His tongue slid heatedly against hers, and she sunk her fingers into his hair, needing something to hold onto as she began to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. When she broke away, clinging to him to hold herself upright, Fitz just mouthed up along her jaw, pressed his forehead briefly against her temple, and then let out a sound that was a cross between a groan and a huff of confusion.

“How d’you do that?” he murmured against her ear, and she shivered as his breath stole beneath the collar of her shirt. “You just – that’s how I feel about you, exactly.”

“Really?” Jemma couldn’t help the near-giddy relief in her voice, and he shifted to lean their foreheads together, one hand coming up to stroke the side of her face.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze. In the dimly lit room, his eyes shone with something that she couldn’t quite name, something at once warm and hesitant and adoring. His lips quirked up at the corners. “You bloody terrify me.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat, and she made a wry little noise. “Ugh, Fitz –” 

“I’m terrified,” he continued in a low voice, “of ever leaving you.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she reached up to press both hands to his cheeks, their noses squashed side-by-side and their breaths intermingling. Joy at his reaction and frustration with their situation whirled through her, and before she’d even made the conscious decision to speak, she found more words falling from her lips: “Make love to me?” 

His eyelashes fanned against her cheek as he blinked, and pulled back to get a better look at her. “What?”

Jemma dropped her gaze between them, hooking two fingers into his collar as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I just... I want to... us to be together. And I know we said we’d match applications, that we’d stay in touch next year, but I... don’t want to leave here without....” Glancing shyly up, she scratched her fingers against the short hairs at the back of his neck. “If you... don’t you want to be with me?” 

“Christ,” he said hoarsely, blue eyes wide in either awe or fear – it was hard to tell. “I do, I _do_ , Jemma, I just....”

Anticipating his next words, she swallowed. “I feel like we’ve known each other for ten years. But I don’t think... I mean, I know, waiting wouldn’t change my mind.” She stretched forward to brush their lips together again, and she could feel something in his muscles give beneath her arms as he pulled her more tightly against himself. “I want to be with you, Fitz,” she said, more sure the longer she thought about it.

“Then me, too,” he replied quietly, looking more than a bit stunned as he reached up to tuck away loose strands of hair that had fallen during her run. A small chuckle worked its way out of his throat, and he gave his head a brief shake. “It’s, um – all I could think about since last week, with the, um....” He nodded back at the bed, and Jemma felt herself flush to match the slight redness that was already in his cheeks. She vividly remembered the rightness to the friction of their clothed bodies rocking together, just as he apparently did. 

“Me, too.” Her eyes dropped to his lips again, but before she could lean in, he swore under his breath.

“I don’t have, uh, protection,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I never thought we’d – you’d – never would’ve thought to....”

“Oh,” she whispered, shoulders sagging slightly. Jemma was embarrassed that the thought hadn’t even occurred to her when she’d suggested having sex, only knowing that she wanted to show Fitz exactly how much she cared for and trusted him, no matter what the rest of the idiots at this resort thought. 

“Davis!” Fitz exclaimed, loudly enough that she winced at the noise. 

“Davis?” she repeated, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Davis,” he said again, and then pulled away from her so suddenly that she stumbled forward a couple steps in his absence. “He has a girl in town,” Fitz explained, grabbing his keys from the floor where he’d clearly thrown them before Jemma had arrived. “I bet he has some.” 

“Good idea.” She gave him a half-smile, wrapping one arm around her stomach and choosing not to ask who Davis even was. “Do you want me to come with you...?”

“Nah, better if you – if you stay here. I’ll run.” When Fitz got to the first stair, he paused, twisted around to look at her, and then quickly backtracked to cup her head in his hands and kiss her once more.

Jemma grinned against his lips, nuzzling up at him when he drew away. “Go,” she murmured, pushing gently against his chest. “Hurry.”

“I will.” He gave her one more kiss and sped down the stairs, tripping on the mid-way landing, straightening, and then disappearing from sight. Suppressing a laugh, Jemma listened to him rummage around for something downstairs before the front door slammed shut.

To give herself something to do while she waited, Jemma slipped into the staircase-adjacent bathroom to freshen up (and make sure there weren’t any unsightly stray hairs that might distract from the mood). As she peered at herself in the mirror, though, she wrinkled her nose, dissatisfied with her own behavior in the few minutes before Fitz had left. She wanted to have sex with him, and she wasn’t ashamed of that fact now that she’d made the decision – so why had she been acting so shy? Although reticence was her natural baseline, she knew she didn’t need to be shy around Fitz. The way he crossed her barriers so effortlessly was one of the things that she liked the most about their relationship, that told her this was right. So, squaring her shoulders, she strode back into the bedroom with a renewed sense of confidence. 

She went around the room lowering the lights and making sure that the curtains were closed tightly. As it was the middle of the afternoon, natural light shone in from beneath the fabric’s ugly, maroon edges. The screen and then door slammed below, and she let out a slow exhale, moving back towards the middle of the room so that when Fitz arrived on the second landing – taking the steps two at a time – they were facing each other.

He paused at the landing, breathing heavily after his sprint, and reached into his pocket for a small cardboard box. “Got ‘em,” he said, tossing the condoms awkwardly on the bed. Before she could move closer, he gave his head a sharp shake and looked over at her, uncertainty written across his features. “Are you sure, Jemma? About....” Inhaling, he waved one finger between them. “‘Cause I just – I need you to know. Whatever we do now, or don’t do, or – or anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever gonna happen to me.” Jemma took in a sharp breath of surprise, studying the deep, sure blue of his eyes. He spread his hands out in front of himself with a small shrug. “I don’t need to have sex with you to know that.” 

Unable to think of any words that could compare to his, that could properly express the excitement and affection that spread through her veins at hearing him speak them, Jemma decided not to reply at all. Instead, she stepped forward and reached for the buttons of her shirt, slipping the first one through its hole and then moving onto the next. Fitz’s gaze dropped to her fingers and followed their progress, lips parting slightly as she undid each fastener one by one. When the shirt was fully open, she shrugged her arms until the yellow cloth slid onto the floor. He didn’t follow the shirt, instead having fixed his eyes on her breasts. Choosing to continue rather than wait and lose her nerve, Jemma reached around and undid the clasp of her satin bra herself, dropping that, too, onto the floor.

Once her breasts were bare, nipples tightening in the cooler air of the bedroom, Fitz let out an odd little sound and drew his bottom lip in between his teeth. Then, however, he didn’t move, and Jemma was torn between feeling both shy and amused. “Now you,” she said, gesturing at his clothes, and it took him a few seconds to process her words.

Letting out a small noise of agreement, he rapidly shed himself of all his clothes but his boxers, one of his trainers bouncing noisily down the stairs behind him. Finished, he immediately returned his eyes to her partially nude form, shuffling a couple steps forward. Jemma chuckled, and rather than reaching for him as she wanted, she brought her hands to her jeans and proceeded to remove the last of her clothing piece by piece. Aware that she was putting on a kind of show for her boyfriend, she tried not to either reveal her nerves or to appear as if she was actually showing off, keeping her movements steady. Besides, she rather enjoyed watching the intense fascination and lust play across Fitz’s face as he watched her, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he knew exactly what he wanted to be doing with them at that moment. 

When she was truly naked, she straightened, breasts bouncing slightly at her movement and causing heat to bloom in her cheeks. 

“Wow,” Fitz whispered, head tilting partway to the side as he stared at her. Jemma wasn’t even sure he was aware he’d said it, his expression seeming more than a little dazed. With a start, she realized that she could see the outline of his cock through his boxers, clearly aroused by her nudity. She swallowed.

“Have you ever read anything by Dr. Albert Kinsey?” The words hung between them for a few seconds as Fitz’s brain caught up with her question, and he blinked up to meet her eyes. 

“Huh?”

“He wrote a study called ‘Sexual Behavior in the Human Female,’” she explained, curling her fingers into loose fists at her sides to sublimate the urge to cover herself up. “I read it at the Georgetown library last year. I found it very enlightening.”

Fitz swallowed, gaze trailing down to her breasts and then even further to the apex of her thighs. “I bet.”

Reaching out to take his hand, she smiled, and flicked her eyes down to the monkeys on his underwear. “You’ve missed something, Fitz.” He hummed, and then leaned around to look at her bum. Jemma let out a surprised peal of laughter, and then swatted gently at his shoulder. “Fitz!” 

“Sorry,” he said, grinning.

There was a distinct expression of nervousness on his face as he reached for the elastic, but she forgot to worry about it the second that he stepped out of his underwear and was equally bared to her gaze. Male anatomy, she thought as she stared at his erect cock, was very different in person than it was in textbook drawings. Although she knew logically that he was likely within the range of average length and girth, she instinctively felt intimidated by the thought of having _that_ inside her shortly. Then again, she reminded herself, this was Fitz – she trusted him to take care of her, to be gentle and loving with her, just as he trusted her in return.

For a few moments, they just stared at each other, both naked and a little unsure but decidedly turned on. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she considered her next move, and Fitz twitched, inhaling sharply and squeezing his hands into fists. Jemma realized that he was waiting for her to take the lead, and with a little huff, she reached for his hands. The simple, chaste touch seemed to wake Fitz from his trance, and as she tugged him in, he leaned forward to steal a kiss, gentle but heated and so very familiar. Despite the newness of being naked in her boyfriend’s arms, the taste of his lips made her feel at home.

Scooting a bit closer in, she steered him backwards towards the bed, their mouths only separating when Fitz’s calves hit the bed frame and he dropped unceremoniously onto the mattress. His cock bobbed slightly at the motion, and Jemma found herself staring at it again, quickly shifting her gaze to their hands as he realized where she was looking. Fitz stretched up to kiss her, angling her mouth open as he carefully smoothed one hand over the bare skin of her waist and brought her forward. When her shins hit the bed frame, she caught her balance on his shoulders, and Fitz shifted to begin pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, her neck, her clavicle. A sigh escaped her throat as he reached the tender skin at the very top of her cleavage, and she dropped her head back to close her eyes and savor the arousal he was successfully stoking.

His hands were spread wide across her back as he began to kiss along the upper curve of her left breast. Jemma shivered, fluttering her eyes open just as Fitz lowered his mouth to her nipple. The sensation shot straight to her center, fast as lightning and twice as hot, and she inhaled. Their eyes met, and, clearly feeling more confident with her response, he laved the nub with his tongue, eliciting a full-body tremor and a gasp of pleasure. The next few minutes were a blur, with Fitz eagerly learning all the best ways to tease her breasts until she was dizzy with sensation. While his hand cupped one and his mouth was wrapped around the nipple of the other, Jemma was lulled into a haze of arousal, until she felt his other hand reach around to squeeze her bum. She let out a breathy moan, her fingers tightening in his curls as heat pooled in her center.

It wasn’t enough, though – not nearly enough of him was pressed against her, and so she pushed forward, straddling Fitz’s lap on the bed and allowing his cock to slide up against her belly. He stifled an aroused grunt by biting sharply onto his lower lip, shifting back on the bed to give her room, but Jemma decided abruptly that she didn’t want him holding back anymore. Instead, she cupped his chin with her hands and captured his lips with hers, pressing her naked torso flush against his and moving them towards the kind of intimacy she’d never before so deeply wanted to experience. In a way, Jemma thought as she slid her hips even closer, this was the only way she could think of to tell Fitz just what he meant to her without needing to admit it to herself. They would make love and then, maybe, he would understand exactly how magnificent he was and how irreplaceable she found him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before anyone gets upset about the fade-to-black, just, like - trust me, 'kay?

Jemma nuzzled at the sweaty skin of Fitz’s temple, panting as his last, orgasmic groan faded against her neck. The warmth of his breath made her shiver, most of her muscles feeling shaky from the exertion and newness of it all. His left hand was tangled into her hair, and it tugged slightly as he tried to better support himself, followed by indistinct but fervent apologies. Grinning, she shushed his concern, although she couldn’t stop the wince that followed as his hips shifted him inside of her.

Fortunately he didn’t notice her reaction, instead pressing his forehead into her cheek as if he’d tried to raise himself enough to look at her but couldn’t quite make it the whole way. “Wow,” he breathed, and Jemma laughed softly. 

“Second time today,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke her fingers along his cheek. “I can’t believe I used to think you were hard to impress.”

He huffed a half-laugh. “I am. You’re just impressive.” At that, he seemed to get a second wind, and pushed up to capture her lips in a deep, sensual kiss. “That was amazing,” he murmured against her mouth, and leaned back to meet her eyes.

His gaze was warm and surprised and grateful and adoring, all melded together in the navy pools of his irises. Sucking in a breath, Jemma had to remind herself not to hide, as much as she wanted to instinctively. So many florid, asinine things popped into her head when Fitz looked at her like that. Thoughts like that didn’t exist out of the moronic Harlequins the other girls at school secreted from bag-to-bag in between classes, and Jemma so wanted her relationship with Fitz to be better than that. More real, more lasting – more loving. A gentle smile teased at her mouth.

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly, in earnestness despite her current mild discomfort. “It was.” With a satisfied sigh, Fitz rested their foreheads together for another few seconds, seemingly unwilling to move from her at all. “You should go clean up,” she prompted, pushing lightly up at his shoulder to encourage him to clumsily move away and off of her. As much as she was trying to downplay her aches, she couldn’t stay in that position any longer.

A hiss of pain escaped from her throat unbidden as she moved her legs together, her muscles protesting their new use, and Fitz froze at the edge of the bed, whipping his head up to stare at her in alarm. “Jemma...?!” 

“It’s nothing,” she assured him, giving him a wry but fond smile. “I’m okay. Side-effect of being a virgin I expect. I mean, having been one.”

Having frozen halfway to a kneel, Fitz stared at her for a few seconds, worry creasing his brow. “Are you sure?” 

“That I was a virgin?” she teased, and he rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels. As he did so, he pulled the sheets with him so that she was completely exposed, with the fabric bunched around his bum and revealing his entire front to her in turn. Her eyes flicked down to his condom-clad cock, and she needed to resist an entirely different urge: The desire to scientifically observe his anatomy post-coital up close. Something told her their relationship was not yet at that point of comfort. 

“No,” he retorted. “That you’re okay. That sounded – I mean, that’s... didn’t sound... right?”

Fitz noticed then that he was exposed to her, and reached quickly around to tug the sheet up over his lap, nearly toga-like. Giggling, she nudged at his thigh with her knee. “Yes, I’m okay, now hurry up so you can come back to me already.” 

A grin split his face and he ducked his head, slipping off the bed and twisting around to look for his boxers. “Just a sec,” he assured her, having found his underwear at the top of the stairs, and hurried into the W.C.

Throwing a furtive glance at the not-quite-closed door, Jemma reached down to feel around her entrance, pressing a tentative, searching finger inside of herself to test out the sensation. For all that she had enjoyed having sex with Fitz, it had been a bit painful in a different way than she had anticipated. Even though this wouldn’t deter her from wanting to try again, it did make her curious about the way her own body seemed to have a mind of its own, ignoring her palpable desire and instead creating an uncomfortable pinching sensation. 

By the time Fitz stepped back into the bedroom, a distinctly shy air hanging around his expression, Jemma had settled herself at the head of the bed with the sheets wrapped around her torso. She lifted her hand out towards him but she needn’t have, as he readily hopped back onto the bed at the same time as her movement. Leaning over her on his hands, he kissed her as if they’d been apart for weeks or months rather than a few mere seconds. 

“You’re the best,” he declared as he dropped onto the mattress beside her, and she huffed out a laugh.

“Romantic,” she quipped, contentedly settling herself against his chest as he lay down next to her.

Fitz was quiet for a few seconds, letting his lips linger against the top of her head. “I can do better than that,” he said slowly, and she gave her head a quick shake.

“Oh, no, Fitz, I was just making fun. You were – you did well before we started.” Pausing, she replayed his confession over in her head, warmth spreading through her cheeks. “Quite well.”

Silence hung between them for a few seconds, and then he shifted around so they could look at each other face on. “Before? Not, um – during?” 

She wrinkled her nose, blush deepening. “I mean, that’s – different. That’s not what I meant.” Unsure of what else to say, Jemma reached out to twist their hands together between them. 

Although she wasn’t looking up at him, she could feel Fitz studying her face as intently as she was avoiding his gaze. “Jemma, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“When did you....” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “Y’know. Finish. What part of your... um... y’know, was that?” 

She stared blankly back at him. “Orgasm? Is that what you mean?” Shrinking slightly into his pillow, he nodded. Something in Jemma’s stomach fluttered nervously. “I, um – well, I didn’t. But I’m sure I will next time,” she added brightly, already worried about the way his face had fallen at her admission. 

“You didn’t?” He looked so crushed that she wished she hadn’t answered, and she kissed the back of his hand to give her time to think of what to say. Before she could, though, he spoke again, earnest blue eyes meeting hers. “Should I – can I help you... do that... now?” Without waiting for her response, he leaned over so he could press his lips to the skin just beneath her ear. 

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “No, that’s, um – that’s alright....” 

“But I want to.” His breath against her neck caused goosebumps to rise over her skin, and she felt his hand slip along the curves of her body, trying to find the break in the sheets that covered her. “Just tell me what to do.” 

“No,” she whispered gently, opening her eyes and recapturing the hand that had escaped hers, “really, Fitz. Not now.” In truth, she wasn’t exactly _not_ in the mood so much as her mood had shifted, and she was still getting used to the slight soreness that had so far lessened but not disappeared.

The worry on his face returned in full force, and she nibbled at her lower lip, unsure of how to communicate her contentedness in a way that he would believe. 

“Are you sure?” he tried again, scooting in to close the gap between them.

“I’m sure. All I want right now is for you to hold me,” Jemma said, smiling and then giggling when he wrapped his left arm firmly around her waist. “And kiss me,” she added, sighing happily as Fitz obeyed again, angling her mouth open as he did so.

A small voice in the back of her head urged her to add “ _and love me_ ,” but she ignored the jolt of adrenaline that thought sent through her body. He couldn’t love her and she couldn’t possibly love him – they were seventeen (shortly going on eighteen), and they’d only known each other for two months. If their relationship survived being separated for weeks and weeks on end with only phone calls and letters to sustain them, then, perhaps, they could be in love. But not before.

With a satisfied hum, Jemma rearranged them so that her head was again tucked beneath his chin and his arms were looped around her shoulders. “I wish we could stay here forever,” she said, snuggling in as close as possible. This closeness was exactly what she wanted in this moment: Fitz’s arms around her, his heartbeat beneath her hand, his lips brushing against her forehead.

“We’ll both need to eat eventually,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “And I don’t fancy you going to the loo in my bed–”

“Fitz!” She whacked his chest as he laughed. “You know what I mean!”

“I know, I know,” he said, fending off another fond flap of her hand, and then stretched up to peer over her shoulder, presumably at the bedside clock. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.” 

“How long before your evening shift starts?”

Fitz settled back against her with a low exhale, tightening his arms around her. “An hour. Bit less.”

“Maybe...” she started, rubbing her hand absently against the flat planes of his chest, “if you wanted to... do this again, we could, um, do it at night. I could tell my parents I’m, I don’t know, sleeping at the cabin of one of the other girls, or something. And then I could stay all night. Um, if you wanted me to, that is.”

He reached up to still her hand’s movement and then leaned down for a sweet kiss, pressing their foreheads together afterwards. “I’d really like that,” he murmured, and she blinked up at last to see unbridled excitement shining from his face.

“Good,” she breathed in response, a bashful smile of her own widening. “I’ll try to figure out what day would be the best. Least likely to get caught out, and such.” Taking extreme pleasure from the easy way she fit against him, Jemma lay her head back down and let her eyes close. “I have to get ready for tonight, but can we just stay this way a little longer?”

“Course we can,” he replied automatically, fingers pressing a little more firmly into her arm. “I don’t want you to go, either. I never want you to go.”

As sunlight stretched long beneath the floor-length curtains, Jemma pushed aside thoughts of the outside world and focused on the feeling of Fitz’s arms around her, suddenly sure that, of all the places in all the world, this was exactly where she was meant to be.

 

\------

 

Unfortunately, eventually the real world needed to once again be heeded, and they had to both get ready for their respective and all-too-separate evenings. Although she had trouble extricating herself from Fitz’s arms and kisses – from the bed to the doorway of his cabin – eventually Jemma had to return to her room. Making herself presentable for the evening would be no easy task today, and she was anxious to wash the smell of sweat and sex off herself before she had to see her parents.

Of course, she should have anticipated that the one time when she least wanted to see them was when they would both be sitting on the cabin’s shared porch to greet her return. Jemma paused to calm the anxiety that spiked at the sight of them she glimpsed from the stone pathway, reminding herself that they had parted in anger and her not wanting to talk to them would be understandable. There was no reason for them to suspect that she had just lost her virginity to her secret staff member boyfriend.

As she strode stiffly up the cabin’s wooden stairs, a part of her wanted to laugh at the situation in which she now found herself. Who would ever have thought that good girl, diplomat’s daughter, straight-A student Jemma Simmons would be having an illicit affair at a summer camp? With the son of a murderer, no less, not that that truly had anything to do with Fitz himself. The whole thing sounded absurd, particularly considering the relative banality of her life before this summer.

“Jemma,” her mother said, stopping Jemma as she tried to angle herself away from them on the way to her room. “Where have you been?”

Swallowing, she continued to the doorway, fumbling her key and cringing as it crashed to the floor. “By the lake,” she managed to get out smoothly enough, considering that it was technically the truth – the whole resort was by the lake.

“Come here, pumpkin,” her father said, voice stern, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Unable to think of an excuse to ignore him, she turned around, hugging her arms around her chest and only moving two steps closer. 

“I’d like to shower before dinner.”

Her parents gave each other a look, and she twisted her fingers into the fabric of her shirt.

“We just wanted to talk to you about earlier,” her mother said, clearly trying to sound as reasonable as possible and therefore getting Jemma’s guard up.

“They’re wrong,” she interjected, and she noted how her mother’s lips thinned. “It’s _not_ fair to exclude the staff just because they work for the resort, the teenagers, they should –”

“Life isn’t fair, Jemma,” her father said sternly, cutting her off and pushing to his feet. “You need to learn to let things like this go, sweetheart –” 

“It isn’t appropriate for you to go on like that in front of the others.” Her mother stood and stepped even with her husband, clasping her hands primly in front of her skirt.

The sense of being trapped by an invisible cage that followed her around struck Jemma, and she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from bursting into frustrated tears.

“You used to tell me that I should speak my mind,” she said unsteadily, focusing on the warm mahogany of her father’s eyes. “That _that_ was how people changed the world.”

A distinct sense of guilt hovered around his expression, and he sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his forehead. “You’re older now, pumpkin. Things are....”

“Different,” her mother said. “You’re not a child anymore, Jemma, you’re a young lady. This behavior is really quite unlike you.”

“You’ve been a young lady since you were five,” her father quipped, shoving one hand into his pocket, “and you asked for your own handbag and handkerchief.” Jemma didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had wanted those things because it would be easier for her to secretly collect samples of leaves and flowers she found without her mother scolding her for getting her fingers dirty. “Now,” he continued, “we’ve agreed that you can continue with your little science project –”

“Why wouldn’t I?!” she exclaimed, again noting the infuriating way they glanced at each other as if they’d expected her response.

“Even if it might be ill-advised after that little outburst,” her mother picked up, and Jemma let out a noise of annoyance. 

“But you really must play nice with the others.” Her father exhaled. “Especially Huntzberger. And maybe –”

“Be careful with that Fitz boy.” Making a little _tsk_ , her mother gave her head a sharp shake. “He might be nice enough, but the last thing we need are the capital’s gossips getting a hold of you spending time with a jailbird’s son.” 

Jemma’s jaw clenched, and she glared back at her parents. “I will _play nice_ ,” she bit out. “But Fitz is my friend, and he helped _put_ his father in jail. I don’t need to be any more careful around him than I need to be around you.” With that, she spun on her heels and strode through the door to her room, letting both the screen and front door slam behind her.

Not much later, as the warm water ran soothingly over her body, she felt a modicum of guilt for behaving so melodramatically with her parents. But the injustice regarding Fitz’s undeserved reputation triggered an oddly aggressive protective instinct within herself, and she couldn’t help her fervent need to make everyone see him for the fantastic person he was. Feeling the soap slide off her skin reminded her of Fitz’s hands on her not long before, and she sighed, trying to burn his touch into her memory. What they had shared that afternoon was theirs alone, and she reveled in that thought – as well as a little daydreaming for when they might again share that intimacy.

 

\------

 

Although Jemma feared the awkwardness that would likely permeate the rest of the evening, fortunately, her father extended an olive branch on the walk over to the main resort building.

“So, Fitz put his own father in jail.” 

Blinking, Jemma’s nervous grip on her cardigan loosened as she glanced at her father. He was ambling in between her and her mother in the rising twilight, and she caught a glimpse of her mother slipping her hand into his. It seemed that they had been having a _talk_ of some sort while Jemma had been getting ready for dinner.

“Yes,” Jemma said, returning her gaze forward. “It was terribly brave of him.”

Her father whistled. “That must be quite a story.” 

“Where did you hear it?” her mother added, but her voice was inquisitive. 

“Fitz told me.” Jemma dug her fingers into the cashmere cardigan, focusing on the clip of her kitten heels against the stone path so that she wouldn’t get riled up again. 

“On his own?”

She glanced at her father and took in a small breath. “Well, not right off, but, yes, on his own.”

A small hum of approval sounded from her mother, and Jemma wished she could see their faces better beneath the darkening sky. “Honesty is an admirable quality,” her mother said at last, and Jemma had to hold herself back from immediately rhapsodizing about how that was but one of Fitz’s many fantastic qualities.

“He is quite admirable in general,” she settled upon saying, trying not to get carried away with the flare of hope the turn of this conversation sparked.

Silence fell between them for a while, and other groups passed them on their way to the main building. As they neared the wide entryway steps, her father turned halfway around, looking at her in his peripheral vision. “If he’s your friend,” he said slowly, reaching up to help her mother up the first two steps, “I’m sure he’s a good chap.” 

“Oh, he’s smart as a whip, Dad, I really think you’d like him,” Jemma gushed before she could stop herself, and then was grateful he likely couldn’t see the color blooming high on her cheeks. 

Her father smiled down at her for a few seconds. “I know you’re upset he can’t enter the contest,” he said at last, “but if you bring him around after the gala maybe I could introduce him to Stark. Bring out the diplomat’s charm offensive. How does that sound?” 

Without thinking, she flung her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Dad,” she breathed, quickly hopping back. “It will mean _so_ much to him.”

Clearing his throat in one of his more distinctly English moments, her father nodded, and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. 

The dining and dancing hall was mostly filled by the time they arrived, and in the corners of the room the waiters were preparing to spread out for drink orders. As Jemma made for her family’s usual table, she could only spare a brief glance back at Fitz’s workstation, and her heart gave a brief, surprised patter as she caught him staring warmly at her. Her father hurried her along, however, and she couldn’t do more than duck her head and try to tamp down her pleased blush.

Focused on not delaying the meal any longer, she hurried to take her seat. When Jemma began to lower herself into her chair, though, a sharp twinge of pain shot up her inner thigh and she gasped, dropping heavily onto the padded wood. She quickly waved off her parents, muttering haltingly that she must have pulled something when she’d gone on her walk that afternoon, and did a decent job at subduing the cringe that she wanted to wear. No simple walk had strained her thigh muscles in such an odd way, and she let her loose hair swing forward as she glanced around to see if Fitz had noticed. To her dismay, he was now standing at his equipment as if he’d just shot to his feet, expression clearly torn between alarm and the awareness that he daren’t approach her in public like this.

Although the rest of dinner was surprisingly pleasant, with all of the Huntzbergers clearly more than happy to pretend like Jemma’s afternoon outburst hadn’t happened, she was hardly as engaged by the conversation as she might have been on other nights. Her awareness was focused on Fitz, working elsewhere in the room and likely just as distracted by her as she was of him – even if she didn’t dare turn around to see him after that initial glance. When Milton asked her to dance, as he did traditionally at the end of each meal when others’ decamped to the floor, tonight Jemma politely declined, feigning exhaustion after her afternoon “by the lake.” Her parents agreed that tonight would be an early one for them as well, and she said she would meet them outside whenever they were ready. If Fitz was quick, she reasoned, she might get to speak to him one last time before the night was done. 

To her amusement, the second that she stood and turned towards the porch exit she saw Fitz dive for his box of records, and she stifled a laugh. He already had the old record off by the time she was across the floor, and their eyes met just long enough for her to give him a small nod. Hopefully, he would wait a good few seconds and leave through a different door, Jemma thought to herself, even if she was eager to speak to him. To her relief, she was quite alone outside of the main building other than the chirping crickets. One late season June bug and then another faded in and out of sight across the lawn, and she smiled. Her summer at this far-flung resort had truly been better than she could ever have predicted.

Footsteps padded across the grass behind her. “Jemma,” she heard Fitz whisper urgently, and before she could turn around he was tugging her quickly beneath the cover of the stairs. Expecting to be thoroughly kissed, Jemma was distinctly disappointed when instead he wrapped both hands around her shoulders and stared hard into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Oh for God’s...” she sighed, trailing off and rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine –” 

“But I saw you fall –”

“That wasn’t because of....” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “That. I – well, okay, it _sort of_ was, but it wasn’t... vaginal.” Fitz blanched at the word and she fought the urge to lecture him on the importance of proper terminology. “It was my leg. When we were – and I was moving? Up against you? Remember?”

“Christ,” he muttered, shuffling forward to press her more firmly against the wall and cupping her jaw with one hand, “course I remember.”

Biting her lip, she had to dart her eyes briefly away from his, heat pooling in her belly just from the way he was staring at her. Even though the movement had been halting at the time, both from her mild discomfort and from their mutual inexperience, the act itself had made her feel unbearably sexy. The way Fitz looked at her now from the mere mention of it was a vivid reminder of that feeling.

“Right,” she squeezed out at last, and glanced back at him from beneath her eyelashes. “So that’s what it was. Like when they make you do those silly exercises in P.E. and your arms or legs hurt for the rest of the day?” 

Fitz let out a low noise of understanding, although he kept his hand against her neck, smoothing his thumb against her skin. “So that’s – okay?” 

“Yes,” she promised, “it’s okay. It’ll be gone by tomorrow, I expect. And it won’t happen if I keep using those muscles like that.” His eyes met hers, and she sucked in a small breath. “I mean, if you... want to. Or – um.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “Right.” 

Not seeming to know what to say, he tilted her head back to press their mouths together for a slow, sensual kiss. Jemma let her head fall back as he brushed their lips together over and over again, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to keep him held against her. When he finally parted her lips and slid his tongue against hers, she thought dimly about how this was precisely what made suffering through dinner without him worth it.

When he broke away for air, Fitz stayed close enough that their noses were a bit smushed together when he leaned his forehead against hers. “I missed you,” he said, and Jemma pulled back with a skeptical tilt of an eyebrow.

“It’s been two hours,” she pointed out, giggling a little as he tightened his arms around her waist and brushed against a spot where she was mildly ticklish. 

“Yeah, two _whole_ hours without you,” he agreed, and she didn’t fight her smile. “Bloody torture. And getting to watch you at dinner in that dress... knowing what, um... what’s underneath....” Fitz gave his head a rueful shake. “Couldn’t think about anything other than you.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment of my bedroom prowess,” she teased, but he just nodded.

“You should.” Then he kissed her again, and a small sigh escaped her throat.

It was a good few seconds before Jemma could remember what she should be saying right now. “I spoke to my dad before dinner,” she whispered, trying subtly to extricate herself from Fitz’s hold as she realized quite how long they’d been out here. “He said he might be able to introduce you to Howard Stark at the gala!” 

“What?!” Fitz stared at her, slack-jawed. 

Jemma gave him an excited nod, taking his hands as she shuffled backwards and away from the shelter of the porch stairs. “He doesn’t know about our plan, of course, but just think – meeting Howard Stark after he saw our work!”

“I dunno what I’d even say,” he said, eyes unnaturally wide. “How’d you get your dad –” 

“Jemma?” Her mother’s voice from the porch caused them both to whip their heads around, and Jemma gave Fitz’s hands another quick squeeze before pushing him back into the shadows. 

“I’m down here,” she called up, and then tried to meet Fitz’s eyes in the darkness. “ _See you tomorrow_ ,” she mouthed, giving him a small wave before trotting off across the grass to meet her parents.

As the two of them descended the stairs, she tugged her cardigan more tightly around herself and tried to shake off the little jolt of surprise she felt from the goodbye that had popped into her head as she and Fitz had parted: _I love you_. Surely it was far too soon for her to be thinking about making such declarations. The instinct clashed with her natural self-awareness, and she had to push the thought away as her mother reached out to rub her back.

“How are you, darling?” 

“Fine, Mum. I told you, it was nothing.” 

Next to them, her father let out a loud, happy hum as he strolled onward through the nighttime. “I say, coming here was a capital idea. Shame it’ll all be over in a couple weeks.”

Her mother readily agreed, slipping her arm into her husband’s and reminiscing about all the activities that she would miss – if not the insects. Something like dread settled into Jemma’s stomach as she realized how little time she and Fitz had left before they would be separated for a whole year, at the very least. They would have to make the best of the time they had left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you to trust me. :-)

When the sun slid through the curtains the next day and drew Jemma into consciousness, a smile broke across her face. Memories from her previous afternoon with Fitz were fresh in her mind thanks to fuzzy, indistinct dreams she’d had just before waking. Somehow, one afternoon seemed to have reoriented her whole worldview - it was her and Fitz against the world, and she felt surer than ever that they were destined to win. Of course, her silly romantic notions aside, she still knew that they had a regular routine to which they must return and a project to perfect. There was no time for her to moon over her boyfriend; after all, the faster she got ready for the day, the sooner she would get to see him again.

So, instead of lounging around in her sheets as she was often wont to do here, she hurried out of bed to get ready for the day. Although Jemma had the morning to herself, as usual, she decided to put on one of her favorite casual dresses – sky blue with crisscrossed white lines, and buttons from the collar to the hem. Insects were a bit of a chore that day, but the warmth behind Fitz’s smile when she slipped through the door of his cabin a few hours later more than made up for it.

With a few, long strides, he had her pressed against the doorway and set about making her dizzy with kisses, and for quite some time Jemma forgot the whole purpose of her visiting Fitz’s cabin in the first place. Eventually, however, she was able to make herself break apart for air, laughing when he tried to lean back in. 

“Fitz,” she scolded, “we have work to do. We didn’t get anything done yesterday.”

He raised a wry eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’d say that....”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Oh, you _know_ what I mean. We barely have a week left before the gala, and you need to make those joints smaller, and I have to finish that new casing for the sensors. We can’t spend all our time together having sex.” With that, she ducked out of Fitz’s arms, biting back a grin at the distinct pout that flashed across his features. 

“When you put it that way,” he mumbled, shuffling somewhat dejectedly towards his steel worktable. She wondered if he’d put a bit of extra effort into his own outfit that day, sporting a slightly rumpled, Cambridge blue collared shirt rather than one of his usual tees. His intentions aside, she found him particularly handsome today, darting [hungry eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oKUTOLSeMM) in her direction as he reached for one of his screwdrivers. 

“We can revisit, um, _that_ , later.” Jemma gave him an affectionate smile as she sat on the workbench she’d been using this week, tucking her skirt around her legs, and his expression softened.

“You look really nice today.” After hesitating briefly, he hopped across the room, planted a kiss on her cheek, and then scuttled back to plop himself in his chair.

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she mumbled, ignoring the warmth that spread through her cheeks. He really was making it nearly impossible for her to concentrate.

Thankfully, after that they settled into their familiar working pattern, long periods of thoughtful silence broken up by each of them talking through spots of trouble or brainstorming for how to streamline other parts of their project. A couple productive hours passed, allowing Jemma to nearly finish a second casing as a spare.

In the midst of finessing the adjustment of a hinge, she didn’t pay much attention to Fitz crossing over to her from his workstation, only giving him a half-glance when he threw one leg over the back of the bench next to her. 

“What, Fitz?”

He scooted up so he was mere centimeters away from her right side, eyes flitting between her hands and her face. “I’ve been thinking,” he started slowly, “about yesterday.” Jemma’s eyebrows raised, and she just barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at his amusing boyishness about them having had sex. “And how you didn’t... it wasn’t... right for you.” 

“That’s not tr–” she started indignantly, lowering her occupied hands to her lap, but he spoke over her.

“Whatever it was. I want you to – know how – good I felt,” he mumbled, not quite looking at her as he rested his right hand on her thigh. “So I thought I could, I dunno, try to make it up to you.”

When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, her mouth suddenly felt dry. His gaze was dark but determined, heat overlaid with eagerness and nerves, and Jemma felt a wash of affection for the young man she was fortunate enough to call both best friend and boyfriend.

“Now?” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Yeah.” Fitz reached for the casing and screwdriver still held loosely in her hands, and smiled as he reached up to put them safely on a shelf above them. “That looks brilliant, Jemma, well done.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, flustered by the subject change. “It wasn’t that difficult to form it into an elliptical instead of a cylinder, it just took a bit of time because....” As she spoke, he moved forward to close the last of the space between them, wrapping one arm around her back and tugging her right leg towards himself. Jemma inhaled.

“Because?” he prompted, sliding his hand up her skirt while keeping his eyes fixed on her face. Their blue was a dark navy in this light, so close to her that she could see every fleck in his irises. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips, and she inhaled. 

“Um,” she breathed, all her attention focused on the drag of his fingers against her upper thigh. His knuckles brushed against her knickers, and all the air left her lungs, the soft touch alone sending feeling zinging through to her center even through the cotton. Her hips twitched forward, instinctively seeking firmer contact. “Because. Of working.” 

If Fitz noticed the fact that her response didn’t make sense, he didn’t say so, choosing instead to tilt his head to slide hot kisses up the side of her neck. “Should we take these off?” His fingers traced along the elastic hem of her underwear, tone curious rather than confident. Considering how well he’d taken to her suggestions the afternoon before, she thought briefly that he probably did not have anything to be worried about.

“I think so.” Before she could reach down to do it herself, he already had his fingers hooked into the hem and had begun to tug. Once she’d lifted her bum to make the work easier for him, Fitz promptly slid the cotton knickers down her legs and reached up to place them next to the casing on the shelf above them.

“There we go,” he murmured, almost to himself, and Jemma found herself again distracted by the unselfconscious way he moved her around to properly open her up to him. It was likely driven by practicality, the way he shifted to support her back as he moved her leg to crook over his parallel one, but she also found it unbearably attractive. “Before we, um, yesterday, you had me... do this....”

He trailed off as he reached once again beneath her skirt, this time pressing his fingers between her labia and forcing a gasp from her throat. Not needing further encouragement, Jemma widened the spread of her own legs, one hand grabbing tightly to his shoulder and the other twisting into the bunched material of her dress. His fingers rubbed gently through her folds as she’d shown him the day before, and she bit back a whimper at the pleasure this sent soaring through her whole body. The problem the previous day had been that she’d been impatient, not allowing Fitz enough time to truly wind her body up. Today, however, he had made it clear that this was some kind of reciprocation in his head, and as such Jemma decided to simply enjoy herself. There was no end game here – no giving up of virginity on either side. Knowing that allowed her to relax in a way she hadn’t quite been able to do before.

With the way Fitz had wrapped himself around her, lips pressed heatedly against her cheek as he breathed questions into her ear, the rest of her concerns faded entirely away. His fingers slid firmly up and down her sensitive skin, and little sounds fell from her mouth every time he brushed against the soft nub at the highest apex of her thighs.

“Tell me, Jemma,” he said, voice low and heated against her ear, “what you like best. What you want me to do.” 

Without further thought, she reached for his hand and moved his two forefingers up so that they were pressed directly against her clit, and she had to stifle a cry at the wash of feeling that sent soaring through her whole body. “There,” she moaned, twitching her hips forward in a quick, sinuous rhythm against his hand. “Again, again, _aah_ – I – Fitz!” 

The workbench began to rock beneath them, and Jemma had the sudden realization that this was probably something Fitz had taken from the garage. There was a strange dichotomy in his behavior now, somewhere between bashful inexperience and unselfconscious sexiness that she was having trouble reconciling. He almost didn’t seem quite like the awkward boy she’d befriended two months prior – and yet, with his wrinkled shirt and intense blue eyes, he most definitely was.

Groaning, Fitz nuzzled against her neck and suckled at the skin over her pulse point. “Like this?”

“Yes,” she chanted, “yes, yes, yes....” A bead of sweat slithered down between her breasts as a hot coil tightened inside her, her whole body focused now on undulating back against Fitz’s hand. Suddenly, he removed his fingers from her clitoris and she let out an embarrassing cry of protest. “Fitz, don’t stop –!”

“Just a sec...” he murmured, and then he was dipping his fingers into her entrance, and she found herself letting out an appeased hum, tilting herself back enough to improve the angle. She still wanted his attention elsewhere, but the gentle stretch of his two fingers inside her was infinitely pleasant. Responding to his movement, she rocked her hips up to push his fingers even further in, mimicking the motion she’d learned yesterday afternoon. “Oh, _Christ_ ,” he hissed, and she felt his hips stutter against the side of hers, “you’re so _wet_.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. “Because of you.”

Not wanting him to get distracted, she reached down with her left hand again to slide his fingers back up to the swollen bundle of nerves that had her whole body ringing with arousal. At his renewed touch, her eyes slipped shut and her breath caught, her whole world narrowing to the tight circles Fitz rubbed over her. Letting out another groan, he leaned down to slide their lips together for a messy kiss, lips and tongues barely matching pace. She was too far gone to really kiss him back, instead allowing him to lead as she whimpered into his mouth.

As pleasure built within her, causing a delicious sort of tension that she was almost afraid to release, Jemma leaned entirely against Fitz, sharp tremors and shivers rolling through her as she was consumed by feeling. She urged him to go faster, head falling against his shoulder as she whimpered and chanted his name, and as he stroked even faster against her, pleasure flashed through her veins. Hitched gasps fell from her lips as her legs clamped over his hand and her hips bucked forward, riding out the strongest orgasm she’d ever experienced. Although she’d managed to climax twice on her own this past spring, it had never felt like this, _never_ , with Fitz’s lips against her skin and his whole body pressed tightly against her, supporting most of her weight.

Jemma was dimly aware of him swearing as she came, his back muscles shifting as he supported more of her weight and worked to draw out her climax. At last, as her body relaxed into a post-orgasmic high, the strokes of his fingers became too much, the sensation too sharp, and she reached down to close her left hand over his, stopping his movement but keeping his hand cupped against her sensitive flesh. She blinked her eyes open to see both their hands tucked between her thighs, the blue cotton of her skirt bunching around their arms and over his lap.

A little voice in the back of her head rued not having had this ready as a fantasy in the spring when she’d experimented with getting herself off. Having Fitz work his hand against her on a dilapidated metal bench as if she were a delicate piece of machinery had been shockingly arousing.

“Oh _God_ ,” she moaned in a low voice, head rolling against his shoulder. Although she couldn’t make herself open her eyes at that moment, she could feel movement that meant Fitz was probably turning to see her better.

“Was that – that was – you definitely – got to – the end?” he stammered.

Chuckling, Jemma removed their hands from the apex of her thighs and entwined their fingers. “I orgasmed,” she whispered, and nuzzled against his neck. “Best one ever.” 

“Yeah? Yeah, right. Good.” He inhaled slowly, settling her more comfortably against his chest, and a satisfied (and somewhat dopey) smile spread across her face.

For a few long minutes, they stayed curled together on the bench, with Jemma catching her breath and Fitz gently running his fingers up and down her arm. This was the kind of thing she wondered if anyone else their age ever did – no one ever _talked_ about sex, and so no one quite knew how to feel one’s way towards having it. Considering that she didn’t have an older sister or more knowledgeable female friends in whom she could confide, she concluded that she was very lucky indeed to have done her own research.

“Well done, Fitz,” she murmured, slipping her leg off of his so she could sit up properly. “What on Earth gave you the idea?”

Watching her carefully, he shrugged. “Dunno. Just... like seeing you work. You look all....” He trailed off, brow furrowing as he thought. “I mean, like _you_. Smart and pretty and... concentrating. And I was just thinking about yesterday, and I wanted to... to... touch you. If you wanted it. So I....” A thought flashed across his face, and a dark red tinge crept into his ears. “Ah, Christ, I should’ve – invited you upstairs, yeah? Probably more comfortable up there, stupid, I –”

“No,” she interrupted sharply, tugging the hem of her dress down as she shook her head. “No, I, um, I’m glad you didn’t.” Fitz stared blankly back at her. “Ask me upstairs. Not that – upstairs is bad, or anything. But I liked it here.” Head spread across her cheeks, and she could still feel a residual ache of desire within herself. “In the lab. Our lab. With you.” 

“ _Oh_.” His eyebrows raised, and he glanced away and back again. “I – okay. That’s alright, then.”

“More than that,” she whispered, leaning in for a sweet kiss. She paused, resting one hand against his chest and wrinkling her nose. “Is that a bit... weird?”

“No,” he replied straightaway. “I did, too. Liked it... here. I mean, differently, because I didn’t... but, y’know.”

Jemma tilted her head thoughtfully, glancing down at his lap. The outline of his erection was clear even through the denim of his jeans. This didn’t surprise her, as she’d felt it while she was in the midst of careening towards her own orgasm, but she also hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

“Fitz,” she murmured, flicking her eyes up to meet his, “would you like...?”

His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “No, uh, that’s not – I mean, wasn’t the point, was it?” He pushed up to his feet, stepped back over the bench, and then reached out for her hands. “Now we’re even. And we’ve got work to get back to, yeah?”

Letting out a fond laugh, she let him pull her up and then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, okay. Although I....” Jemma paused, nibbling briefly at her bottom lip before she reached behind them to pluck her knickers off the shelf. “Need to use the loo.” 

After quickly cleaning herself up in the bedroom-adjacent bathroom and putting her underwear back on, she returned to the lab. As she stepped off the stairs, she fought off the urge to laugh at the sight that greeted her. Although Fitz was sitting at his workstation, tool and leg joint in hand, he wasn’t moving at all. Instead, he was staring at a random spot on the wall, lips parted, and he shifted his hips around on his stool briefly as if he were uncomfortable. Her entrance broke him out of his stupor, and he gave her a half-smile before turning his attention back to his gadget and the blueprints he had spread before himself. 

The next part of Jemma’s task for the afternoon required her to move around the lab as she fetched supplies and tested the sensor’s housing, rather than the delicate work she’d been performing before Fitz had interrupted her on the bench – as it were. While she went to and fro, she could feel his eyes on her, and even if he occasionally snapped his gaze away when she turned, at one point she caught him pointedly adjusting his trousers at the waist. Fitz was decidedly turned on, and, considering the fact that he’d been working on the same joint for the past twenty minutes straight, he clearly wasn’t getting any work done. 

Subduing an amused grin, Jemma planted herself next to him, leaning back on her elbows on the steel table. “Fitz. You’re not working.”

“What? No,” he mumbled, ducking his head and returning to finessing the assembly of what seemed to be the world’s most complicated leg joint. “No, I’m working.” 

“You’re distracted,” she said, lowering her voice and resting her right hand on his upper thigh. “I see you watching me.” 

“I’m not,” he retorted stubbornly.

Sighing, Jemma reached up to fiddle with the top button of her dress. “Oh?” she said, eyebrow raising as his gaze dropped immediately to her breasts. “You _haven’t_ been staring at me?” Fitz shook his head, eyes following her fingers as she undid the first button and then the second. Emboldened by his apparent inability to actually counter her point, she scooted a bit closer and squeezed his leg, which jumped in response. “I think,” she started, flicking open the third and final button just above the dress’s cinched waist, “I can help you concentrate.” 

“Oh?” His voice was gravelly now, eyes still fixed in the center of her chest. The metal joint made a loud clang as Fitz put it down on the table, and her lips twitched up in a smile. Clearly, he’d given up on protesting.

“Yes,” she continued, sliding one hand up his thigh as she tugged the top of her dress aside to reveal one bra-clad breast. “If I help you come, you’ll be able to concentrate much better.” He choked on a gasp as her fingers slid across the outline of his cock, eyes slipping briefly shut before flitting up to meet hers.

“You’re, ah, sure?” 

Smiling, she reached for his right hand, placed it firmly on her breast, and then leaned in to angle his mouth open for a deep, heated kiss. She could feel him surrender, in the way he scooted his stool a little closer and the way he eagerly pushed beneath the satin of her bra. His fingers immediately sought out her nipple, and she sighed at the dart of pleasure this sent through her. 

After giving him a few moments, she returned to the task at hand, which first required undoing his belt and trousers. Once she finally had them open, Jemma snuck her hand inside Fitz’s boxers and wrapped her hand around his hard cock. As she pulled him out, he groaned against her mouth, hips twitching instinctively forward. Unable to continue kissing her, he leaned his forehead against her chin, hot breath feathering down over her breasts. Finally properly situated, she tightened her grip around the base of his cock and stroked him slowly from root to tip, cataloguing the little twitch he made and the shocked sound that stuttered out of his throat. Beyond that, though, she was fascinated by the feeling of his length in her hand, so very different from when he’d been inside her. One thing that she particularly appreciated as she gave his cock another pump was the sense of control this gave her, the freedom that she had to experiment with pleasing him. There was something rather bewitching about causing all the instinctive little jerks and noises that he was making now. 

Fitz groaned out his approval, setting his teeth briefly against her shoulder in a sucking, almost-kiss before pulling away. “ _Fuck_ ,” he bit out as she took a second to swipe a bead of precum around the head of his cock. “That’s just – just – _ahhh_ , Jemma, God, Jemma,” Fitz muttered, hips rocking forward again. “Could you... just...” he started again, dropping the screwdriver he’d still had clutched in his other hand. He reached down to cover her hand over his cock and then squeezed, tightening her grip before pumping their hands in unison along his length. A shocked moan escaped his mouth then, surprising them both, and when he added a small twist to the rapid pumping, his hips bucked sharply forward. “There,” he grunted, removing his hand to grab onto the table’s edge so firmly that his knuckles turned white. “There, Jemma, like that –!”

Grinning, she shifted around his side to make mimicking the movement easier for her, and then pressed a teasing kiss to his cheek. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” he said right away, inhaling raggedly as she took a second to wrap her other arm around his back and spit into her palm. “God, please –!” Fitz broke off on a strangled groan as she wrapped her hand firmly around his cock and began rapidly stroking him as he’d just demonstrated. His hips rocked forward to the rhythm she set, his breath coming rapidly.

Jemma made sure to watch the pleasure play across his face as she worked her hand over him, fascinated by the micro-expressions of lust and anticipation that twitched through his facial muscles. She could feel his body winding up tight within her arms, his muscles reining in the potential energy until she got him to that tipping point. Suddenly, Fitz let out a sharp grunt, his hips bucked forward so hard he almost slipped off his stool, and the warmth of his come slid across her hand as she continued stroking him. Unsure when to stop, she slowed her pumping, watching avidly as he slumped forward against where his hand was still propping him up against the table.

Head hanging forward, Fitz muttered something that sounded an awful lot like “so good,” and reached down with his free hand to gently halt her movement. She shuffled forward to close the last millimeter of space between them, nuzzling in so that he was forced to meet her eyes. 

“Better?” she whispered, and he huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he replied hoarsely. Then he glanced up at the table and swallowed, prompting her to follow his gaze to the work he’d theoretically been doing before she had determinedly distracted him.

“Oh dear,” she said on a half-chuckle. “Those designs got a bit, um, dirty, didn’t they?” Fitz grabbed for a nearby grease-cloth and began to wipe up the mess that had gotten onto some of their papers. “So much for you liking a clean workspace.”

Letting out a wry laugh, Fitz handed her the cloth so he could tuck himself back into his trousers. “I _do_ like a clean workspace,” he retorted, sliding his eyes back to her. “But I guess a little, ah, dirty designing every so often isn’t bad. If it’s like that.”

Jemma let out a peal of laughter and wrapped her arms around his shoulders so that she could give him a thorough kiss. Pressing their foreheads together, she couldn’t help give him a slight roll of her eyes, leaning happily against the arm he rested around her waist. “I cannot _believe_ you just said that.”

With his thumb rubbing soft arcs over the cotton of her dress, Fitz shrugged, eyes twinkling slightly in the low light of the room. “Have to look at the silver lining. I’ll need to redraw those designs now, y’know.” 

She arced an eyebrow at him. “Are you _really_ complaining about that?”

“No,” he replied, and if she wasn’t mistaken a blush began to bloom on his cheeks. “I can make ‘em better now, anyway.” 

“You’re welcome, then,” she teased, and stepped away. “Come on, we need to clean up.”

Although the cleaning up itself did not take long, they spent a good half an hour upstairs and decidedly not working because Fitz couldn’t keep his hands off her. He trapped her against the doorframe of the bathroom and kissed her until she was dizzy, the bare skin of her chest brushing against his shirt as she hadn’t yet remembered to do her dress up again. It seemed, Jemma realized as Fitz nibbled his way along the smooth expanse of her neck, that they were truly finished with work for the day after all.

 

\-----

 

In a fit of gallantry – and, Jemma suspected, to prolong their afternoon together – Fitz offered to accompany her back to her cabin on his way to begin his evening shift. The weather was pleasant and their path deserted, as everyone else was either already preparing for dinner or eking out a few last minutes at the lake, and yet she felt a niggle of dissatisfaction as they strode side by side through the staff quarters. Her fingers itched to be wrapped in his, itched for something so simple to calm her restless energy. But since their relationship was still strictly a secret, she couldn’t satisfy the urge.

As they ambled between houses, occasionally she let their hands brush together for longer and longer moments, once or twice even curving her pinky finger around his. Whenever they touched, Fitz glanced up to meet her eyes, something rather like wonder hovering around his expression. Inevitably, this made her feel shy, and she’d let her hand fall away again, or raise it to tuck hair behind her ear.

“Oh! I overheard something this morning,” she started, halting her thought when Fitz snorted out a laugh. 

“Your favorite hobby,” he teased, “after examining local flora and kissing.”

She gave him a half-hearted shove. “Who said that kissing you is one of my favorite hobbies?”

“So you admit to the eavesdropping,” he countered, though his expression fell slightly. “But, I mean, you don’t – you like – _like_ the kissing, right? You were just –”

“Kidding, yes.” Jemma gave his arm a quick squeeze, assuming that was innocuous enough for even the most suspicious eyes. “I like kissing you more than – well, maybe not more than _anything_ else...” she trailed off, feeling her cheeks heat up as a few moments from this afternoon flashed into her head. “But more than a _lot_ of things.” Her nose wrinkled as she returned to the original joke, and she sighed. “And I don’t do it on purpose,” she muttered. “The eavesdropping. People just keep talking when I pass, it’s not my fault.” 

“I know,” he returned, giving her arm an agreeable nudge. “So what’d you hear?” 

“You know the barbeque that we’re having in a few days? Some of the girls were talking about having a ‘private picnic,’” she said, crooking her forefingers in quotation marks, “just for them. That might be perfect for our, um....” Jemma trailed off, looking bashfully up at Fitz through her eyelashes. “I suppose we could call it a date night. For me to spend the night. If that’s –”

“Brilliant,” he interrupted, and she gave him a wide smile in return. “And your parents won’t –?”

“They’ll believe me.” She tilted her chin up and clasped her hands behind her back. “I never lie to them.”

The fact that she was very much now lying to them for Fitz hovered between them for a few seconds, and he slowed his pace as they approached the gathering of trees that separated the staff and the guests. When she gave him a puzzled look, he reached around to press his hand against hers where she held it at the small of her back. 

“I can’t wait, Jemma,” he murmured, and something indefinable fluttered in her stomach. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes, flitting them to hers and then away again. “I, um, haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“Me neither,” she whispered.

Another silence strung out between them, with Jemma glancing around to triple-check that there was no one watching them. Fitz wrapped one hand around her wrist and tugged her after him in between the trees, placing them squarely behind a thick trunk surrounded by scraggly brush. Then he cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, and she almost couldn’t remember why they shouldn’t be doing this where someone with a keen eye could surely catch them. His lips were warm and reverent, and as they moved against hers she knew that both of them would be counting down the hours until they could be so intimately together again. When he stepped back, she let out a quiet hum of satisfaction, her fingers coming up to trail gently over the side of her neck, tracing where his hand had just been.

“Okay, good,” she breathed, knowing that her cheeks must be at least as pink as Fitz’s were now.

“Yeah.” He ducked his head, turning back towards the half-worn path through to the other side of the trees, and she smoothed her dress as she followed. Perhaps she should defer wearing a skirt for the next couple of days; they offered a bit too much temptation.

Just as they reached the opposite edge of the tree-line, Jemma spotted her father striding through the grass towards the lake, two beach towels slung over his shoulder. With a gasp, she reached out and yanked Fitz down with her behind a nearby tree. He bit off a yell, muttering a swear as he dropped hard onto his knees next to her.

“What the _hell_?” he exclaimed in a whisper, pulling his arm from her grasp and rubbing at his wrist. “It’s not like your dad hasn’t seen us together before.” 

Beyond them, her father’s whistling continued unabated, and Jemma fumbled for an explanation, the heat in her cheeks now from embarrassment rather than flirtation. “Oh, you’re right,” she said at last, pushing up and reaching to help Fitz up after her. He waved her off, pushing himself to his feet, and the rejection darted sharply through her gut. “I’m sorry, I don’t – it was silly.” Jemma swiped anxiously at hair that had come loose from her tie, glancing across the grass at where her father was now long out of sight. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Although Fitz shrugged and said “it’s okay,” she sensed that something wasn’t quite right. They continued walking, birds chittering somewhere nearby, and she desperately wished she could reach out to touch or hold him in some way. His upset was palpable; she could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders and distance he kept between them. 

“When’re you gonna tell your parents?” he said in a low voice, slowing as they approached the pathway towards her cabin. “About us? I mean, we said we weren’t gonna tell anyone here, I know, but... if we’re... we’re gonna stay together after we leave, so....” 

“Of course we are,” she said immediately, reaching out to brush the backs of her fingers against his forearm. The brief touch brought Fitz’s gaze back to hers, and she sucked in a breath at the uncertainty she saw there. “Oh, Fitz, please –” Jemma reached out towards his hands, winced, and then drew them back to curl anxiously around her neck. “Blast it, I – I can’t – please don’t be upset. Please don’t doubt me. Or how much I want to be with you. I do, _very_ much.” 

His expression softened slightly, and he ducked his head. “Right, no – I know. I know that.”

“I haven’t thought about it yet,” she continued, unable to stop herself from glancing again towards the lake where her father had gone. “About how to tell them. Or when. But I will.” Jemma gave him a warm if tremulous smile. “They’re gonna love you, Fitz. I just know it. Especially after you impress Howard Stark.”

A bashful grin broke across his face, and the tension in her shoulders released. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.” They just watched each other for a few seconds, and Jemma tried to imbue her expression with as much affection as possible. “Alright, I’ve gotta...” he said, gesturing towards the main building.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, giving him a half wave as he strode away.

“Talk to you tomorrow.” Fitz said this with a smile, glancing back at her before truly heading off, but something about the pointedness of the comment made her stomach curdle slightly.

Jemma sighed and began to trot down the path to her family’s cabin. At one time, keeping their relationship a secret had seemed fairly simple. Now, with people like Elena and Mack asking questions, as well as Fitz’s feelings to consider, she wasn’t so sure.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note that this chapter (and the next) push this fic from Mature into Explicit, and the rating has been changed to reflect that.

For the following few days, Jemma’s life at the resort returned to something almost like normal. Her and Fitz’s romantic interludes were limited to only a few snogs here or there, and they spent most of their days actually doing work. In fact, the afternoon of their designated date night they had their first literally flawless test. The Golden Retriever – which Fitz insisted on calling Bambino – actually followed Jemma around the lab without deviating for other scents or running into table legs. Considering that the tested scent was of a metal car key which Jemma had held curled in her fist and that the lab was awash with other metallic objects, they were ecstatic with the result.

She had smuggled a few overnight supplies with her to the lab in her workbag, successfully hiding her pajamas, a hairbrush, and a toothbrush beneath her notebooks. When she first arrived at the cabin, Fitz brought her upstairs and gave her a drawer in the dresser nearest to the bathroom. It took her three tries to get him to admit that he’d emptied it out just for her, and she nearly lost her resolve to return to the lab right then and there. But the point was for them to spend a full night together – after dinner and on through until dawn – and so she settled for hugging him from behind when he reached up to tug on the ceiling fan’s string-switch instead. The unopened box of condoms partially hidden behind the lamp and alarm clock on his bedside table also did not escape her notice, and she nibbled her lip on a smile as she followed him back downstairs. 

During the barbeque that evening, Jemma made a good show of being the perfect ambassador’s daughter, flitting around after her parents and being as charming as she could manage. The buffet table of potato salads and molded Jell-O even allowed her the chance to chat with a couple of the teenage girls with whom she was supposedly spending the evening where her parents could see them. Considering that she’d barely ever spoken to them before, the conversation was more than a little stilted, but that was mostly irrelevant to Jemma. The brief exchanges would serve their purpose – allowing her the night she wanted to have with Fitz – and that was all that mattered.

When the meal was about halfway over, the teenagers all started peeling off to separate from their parents in one direction or another, finally freeing Jemma for the rest of the night. She traipsed across the resort, ambling here or there to try to mislead anyone who might notice her, but eventually made her way to Fitz’s cabin. Before she’d finished rapping a fourth knock on his door, Fitz swung it open, a breathless smile stretching across his face as he laid eyes on her.

“Long time no see,” she started to joke, but he reached out to tug her inside, stopping her words. The pink satin of her skirt swished around the door just before he closed it, crowded her in against it, and then began pressing hot kisses along the curve of her jaw.

“I’ve been waiting,” he murmured huskily, and she bit her lower lip at the low tone of his voice. 

“Wait, Fitz,” she said, scrunching her fingers in his hair to catch his attention. “I was – can we go out, first?”

“Go out?” He pulled back so that he was leaning on the door next to her, brows furrowed. “Go out where?”

“I just want to see something.” 

“Something wh–” 

“Trust me?” 

Fitz studied her expression for a few seconds, and then huffed out a longing sigh. “Alright. Course I trust you.” Reaching around her to twist open the door handle, he glanced at her before moving away. “Then we – you still wanna come back here? After?” 

Jemma gave him a bright nod. “Oh, yes. Very much. After.”

Once out of the cabin, they still couldn’t hold hands for fear of discovery – even in the dark of night. When they arrived at their destination, Jemma reminded herself as she had to subdue the urge yet again, they would be able to let their guard down about their relationship – but not before. 

“You changed,” he said as they walked side by side, and she turned to him. “From earlier – for dinner?” 

“Oh, yes,” she replied, tugging absently at the skirt. “I thought I... should look nice.” In fact, this was one of her favorite dresses, although she did not often have the confidence to wear it. The straps were spaghetti-thin, and the pink top hugged her such that she couldn’t actually wear a bra other than the support system that the dress itself provided. But the skirt was rather swishy, and she felt pleasantly feminine in it. 

“You always look nice.” Anticipating her impending _ugh_ , he made a shushing sound. “I mean – you _do_ , but this is... proper nice.” He licked lips, darting his eyes down her figure as they walked, and she had the sudden impression that he was picturing her without the dress.

“You changed,” she pointed out, having been admiring the figure he cut with a nice button down on rather than his normal tee.

“Right, well – I know we weren’t going out on a proper date, but I thought....” Fitz trailed off and shrugged. 

“You look nice, too,” she murmured, and noted the way he straightened his shoulders slightly at the compliment. 

She led them up through the staff residences, slowing when they reached the creek that she had fallen into well over a month ago. Fitz scowled at it as it came into view, and unsubtly shifted them so she was on his other side. “Oh for God’s sake,” she muttered. “I’m not going to spontaneously fall in, you know. And we’re not crossing it, either.” 

“Fine, good.” He kicked at a rock that marred their path. “Scared the hell out of me that night.” 

“It won’t happen again,” she promised soothingly, patting his arm.

The front of the low staff building finally came into view as they turned a corner around a large cabin. Fitz had told her once that the intention was to use it as a staging area for resort events that needed more space than the guest facilities, in addition to giving the large staff population a private area away from their resort responsibilities. Tonight, multicolored lights flashed through the same side entrance that they’d used all those weeks ago, and distinctive music wafted through the thick night air.

Jemma let out a noise of unbridled excitement and clapped her hands together. “Oh, _good_! I was right, they are having one of those dance parties tonight!” 

Glancing between her reaction and the staff building, it took Fitz a few seconds to catch up, at which point his expression shifted into something rather like horror. “Bloody hell, Jemma, we can’t – that’s not – we can’t do _that kind_ of dancing!” 

“Why not?” She gave him what she knew was probably an unfair and certainly an uncharacteristic pout, and he scratched at his left eyebrow in agitation.

“Because – because I don’t dance, and people will see us, and –!”

“No one on the staff will tell,” she reminded him, paraphrasing Elena’s words from the night they had first stumbled upon the room. “They’d get in trouble, too. And Mack and Elena are the only ones who go to these things who could fire you for being with me, and they wouldn’t do that. They’ve already told us as much.” Clasping her hands in front of herself, Jemma met his gaze head on. “Aren’t you curious? What it would be like?”

His eyes drifted down her body again, and he huffed out a breath. “But, I mean, with all those people, Jemma... I dunno....”

“I think it looks like, um, quite a lot of fun. With the right person. With you,” she added, gently tapping her knuckles lightly against his chest. “If you don’t like it, we can leave straight off and go back to your cabin. And whenever we do that, after the dancing, then it’s... just us. For the rest of the night. You and me. But I thought it might be, well, romantic to do something out first, since we couldn’t go to a proper dinner together.”

Fitz sighed into a low, incredulous laugh, and reached up to cup her cheek in his hand, thumb stroking over her skin. “I cannot believe I’m about to agree to do this.”

She grinned, trying not to look too smug. “It’s because you like me too much.” 

“Yeah.” The way he watched her then made her breath catch, a mix of bewilderment and adoration in his expression that she had never seen before. “Guess I do.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, Jemma took his hand and tangled their fingers together. “Let’s go, then.” 

Music thudded through the walls as they entered the building, and Fitz’s hand tightened around hers when they crossed the dancehall’s threshold. Bodies fluctuated to the rhythm of the current song, an upbeat tune nothing like the one they’d heard the last time they were there. No one spared them a second glance as Jemma navigated the crowded space, and she was grateful for the staff’s disinterest in each others’ affairs. Or, at least, in her and Fitz’s affair. 

When she turned to see the firm line of his mouth, she sighed into a smile. “Come here, loverboy,” she teased, crooking one finger towards him, and his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“[ _Loverboy_](https://youtu.be/oxCDAs3kbAU?t=10)?” he repeated incredulously, allowing her to grab his hands and pull him forward. “Seriously?”

Jemma rolled her eyes, and pointed one finger up into the air, indicating the song lyrics that she’d just been mimicking. “Better than something like _baby_ ,” she retorted, pulling him in so they were standing in a more traditional dancing pose. Letting out a low snort, Fitz wrapped his hand around hers, but didn’t do much else other than sway stiffly against her.

“Ugh, Fitz – dancing doesn’t have to be so serious!” At that, she took both his hands and started hopping from one side of his feet to the other, intentionally exaggerating her movements to the song’s rhythm in a ridiculous way.

For a few seconds, he just stared at her with his nose wrinkled apprehensively, allowing her to swing his arms but not moving of his own volition. Eventually, as the tune continued to bounce along, Fitz slowly began to mimic her, adding more and more motion until they were mirroring each other with ungainly, rhythmic hops. Fitz grinned, Jemma giggled uncontrollably, and she could feel in his arms when he forgot they were in a room with a few dozen other people. In that moment, it was just the two of them, the music, and their silly, ungraceful little dance. 

The song faded out just as she ran out of breath, needing to cling to Fitz to keep herself upright from her laughter. “You’re an odd bird,” he chuckled, resting one hand on her lower back.

Before she could come up with a cutting retort, a new song faded in – one that was deeper, slower than the last one. All around them, couples came together as if drawn by magnetic attraction, their bodies melding and the summer evening air becoming somehow thicker. In her peripheral vision, she could see Fitz swallow, and turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were a blue darker than the night sky and more depthless, watching her with a cross between apprehension, curiosity, and affection, and she sucked in a slow breath.

With her arms already around his neck, all she needed to do was insinuate one of her legs between his and shuffle them closer together so that they held the same position as couples that surrounded them.

“Just do what they do,” she whispered, inhaling at the tight press of his whole body against hers. His hands drifted down to rest on her waist, just above the shifting, smooth material of her rosy pink skirt. 

Jemma began to sway her hips to the rhythm of the music, and, a few seconds later, Fitz followed, only a little haltingly. As he stared into her eyes, she could feel him loosening up gradually, matching his movements to hers. Somehow, this seemed at least as intimate as their afternoon in his bed, bodies searching for a similar press and slide, a tempo as much instinctive as it was imitative.

After a few moments, he glanced around, shifting his hold on her to better mimic the more practiced boys and men around them. A gasp escaped her throat as he slid one hand down to grab at her arse and pull her hips forward until she was rubbing directly against where she realized he was hard. Her eyes flew up to his, fingers tightening against his shoulders and tongue darting out to wet her lips. The expression on his face made it seem like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done in such a public place – never mind the shadows sliding over every nearby body, masking the intimate touch of his hand and the nigh erotic rock of their hips. 

In fact, she was thrilled Fitz had been so forward of his own volition, uncharacteristic of him though it may be, and she made a pointed hum to catch his attention. The smile she gave him was a mix of pride and breathless fascination, and the embarrassment that had hovered around his features disappeared. Their rhythmic writhing felt more connected then, as their limbs began to move in sync, as one, foreshadowing moments between them still to come. The music began to crescendo, the bend of their legs deepening to match it, and Jemma felt nearly lightheaded from the intensity of the moment. This was exactly what she’d wanted to experience, the adrenaline rush of dancing so intimately with someone she trusted – with her best friend and boyfriend.

Next to them, a woman seemed to swoon backwards, bending over as her partner held her firmly around the waist, and continued gyrating their hips in time to the music. As Jemma slid her eyes back to Fitz, she realized he’d seen the same thing as she, mouth parted as he breathed heavily against her.

When their eyes met, she crooked her eyebrow in a challenge. “Do you have me?” she murmured, and a smile ticked up the corner of his mouth.

“Always,” he replied with a wry tilt to his mouth. 

His promise made, Jemma let her fingers slip from his arms as she let herself dip backwards, hair flying loose beneath her and one hand trailing through the air. Her feet began to slide out, even with the firm grip Fitz had on her waist, so she didn’t stay bent over as long as the other girl, only managing one twist of her hips before she curled rapidly back up into a standing position. A cross between a laugh and a squeal fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, both of them stumbling a little from her halted momentum. Pulse thrumming through her veins, a part of her couldn’t believe the two of them hadn’t just collapsed into a heap on the dance floor; something told her it was only luck that they hadn’t. 

“Alright?” His voice was gravelly and low in a way it hadn’t been a few moments before, and she tilted her head to meet his eyes.

At the sight of him, all she could do was nod, their chests heaving together. Fitz was just staring at her, staring as if Jemma were the only drink of water in a hundred mile radius and he was dying of thirst. There was a hunger to his eyes, need coloring every shift of his hands where they were pressed against her waist and back, and she knew they couldn’t stay here for much longer. If she was right, with the way he was watching her now, eyes flickering repeatedly down to her lips, he was seconds away from losing any semblance of control that he had left. Even if they were able to risk dancing like this together in the staff building, snogging on the dance floor would be something they couldn’t dare risk.

Jemma angled her head so their mouths were a little further apart, adjusting her hold on him and glancing at where the rest of the room was occupied with the next song trickling through the speakers. They had really only just gotten there, but, well... with Fitz responding so strongly, she couldn’t deny that she liked the idea of being alone together right now at least as much as he did. There was something intoxicating about seeing her boyfriend watch her with such unreserved desire when they were surrounded by a seemingly vast, heaving crowd.

“Do you want to –”

“Get out of here?” he finished for her, nodding before he’d even stopped speaking. “ _Hell_ yes.”

Jemma stifled a small laugh, tangling their fingers together before she led them back through the throng of people. A part of her really did want to stay longer, to study what other dances took place in the low-lit, pulsing room, but it seemed only fair for them to leave before Fitz decided to throw the last of their caution to the wind.

Someone darted out in front of her, speeding through the crowd, and she stopped short, causing him to bump straight into her. Rather than apologize and shuffle backwards, though, he stayed pressed in against her. His lips feathered against her neck and she inhaled, eyes fluttering briefly shut as she forced herself not to lean into him. 

“Fitz,” she whispered, voice a cross between a scold and a hoarse whisper, “not here!”

“I cannot wait,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, “to be alone with you.”

Heat pooled low in her belly. Fitz, for all his usual awkwardness and apparent inexperience with girls, seemed to have developed a knack for arousing her to distraction. Without further preamble, she strode off towards the exit even faster than before, her boyfriend in tow. If they didn’t get back to his cabin soon, by this point _Jemma_ was on the verge of losing any semblance of common sense. 

Distracted by the way Fitz kept trying to hold onto her while they navigated the crowd, as she stepped into the entryway she smacked right into a person who felt about as immoveable as a mountain. Jemma let out a squeak of surprise, tilting her head back far enough that she could see Mack’s startled face.

He had reached out one hand to steady her shoulders, but had apparently frozen at the sight of Fitz following right behind her. “Jemm...” Mack started, stopping himself before continuing with a distinct note of disappointment: “Fitz.”

Although Jemma had quickly tried to disentangle their hands once she’d seen who she had run into, Fitz determinedly held tighter to her, setting his shoulders back as he returned Mack’s stare.

“We were just looking,” FItz offered with a show of bravado. Not giving either of the other two a chance to speak, he tugged her after himself toward the door. 

“Mack, what...?” Jemma heard Elena start to speak behind them, and twisted her head to glance over her shoulder. 

Elena now stood next to Mack with a look of mixed amusement, surprise, and worry etched upon her face, while her husband continued to watch the teenagers disapprovingly. Before Jemma could think how to make the situation better, Fitz tugged her through the front door, and began striding with her across the grass toward the staff residences.

“Fitz,” she said, slipping her hand away from his. “I think they know –”

“I know,” he said, fumbling around again to grab her hand. “But I don’t care right now.”

“Fitz!”

Letting out a huff of frustration, he quickly tugged her behind the dark shadow of a nearby cabin’s balcony. In a second, he was kissing her, all heat and tongue and teeth, and she clung to his shirt to keep herself from falling. “You’re all I can think about right now,” he confessed, rubbing their noses together so sweetly that she nearly couldn’t believe this was the same grump who had dismissed her the first day at the resort. “I just wanna get home, to be with you.”

Jemma inhaled, letting him smooth his fingers along the side of her face. His use of the word “home” made her barely-there annoyance dissipate. The silly, romantic part of her wished that they _were_ going to a home, and not his ramshackle cabin – their home. A home they had made together. Which was foolish (at this age, at this stage of their relationship, and for so many other reasons) and she knew it, and yet the idea made something warm curl through her chest.

“You really,” she said, making sure her voice was appropriately teasing, “have a one-track mind.” 

Fitz made a little guffaw as she stepped around him to continue their speed-walk back to the cabin, pulling him after her. “Can you blame me?” he retorted wryly. “After... after _that_ display.”

She let out a little smirk into the darkness. Going to the dirty dancing room hadn’t really been intended to get him this riled up, but she wasn’t going to complain about it as a side effect. 

With them both focused on the destination, it felt like no time passed before Fitz was tugging open first the screen and then pushing at the front door, both creaking noisily over the singing crickets. Jemma tumbled after him into the lab, tripping slightly in the dark, and then the door was locked and his hands were on her, fingers digging into her waist and lips desperately searching out hers. Crossing her arms over his shoulders, she moaned into his mouth, arching her back so she could feel his erection through his jeans. She found that knowledge infinitely appealing, that she’d done that to him without even trying. Heat washed through her body at the way he clung to her now, nearly lifting her off her feet against the door so he could kiss her even more deeply. The wood scratched against her shoulder blades, skirt bunching where she rocked up against him. 

“Upstairs,” she panted hoarsely, heels slipping out of her shoes as she tried to press them even closer together. 

Not waiting for further instruction, Fitz pulled back, caught her when she nearly overbalanced, and then hurried across the lab. Her shoes flew off her feet as she ran, fingers scrabbling against his hand to keep them connected, and a breathless smile stretched across her face. Although she had desperately wanted to be with him that first unexpected time, wanted to feel as connected physically as she long had to him emotionally, there was something thrilling about knowing now what was to come. About running up the wooden stairs of Fitz’s cabin on bare feet, the pink satin of her skirt swishing around her legs and her hair bouncing around her shoulders in decidedly mussed-up curls.

Once her feet hit the landing, Fitz slapped his hand against the light switch and then spun around to scoop her into his arms. She placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him again, letting him direct them clumsily around the end of the bed to its far side. Her calves hit the frame and they both stumbled, with her dropping hard onto the mattress upon a surprised huff.

“Sorry,” Fitz said, but as he dropped to his knees in front of her, he didn’t look sorry at all. His lips unerringly searched out the tenderest skin on her neck, and she sighed as he began to suck lightly, just enough friction to cause arousal to zip through her veins. One thin strap of her dress slipped down over her shoulder, but she didn’t bother to fix it, hands otherwise busy carding through his curls or rubbing along his arm.

“You look so _good_ tonight,” he muttered against her collarbone, flicking his tongue against the hollow and making her shiver. “I didn’t... Christ, I didn’t think....” Fitz began to press kisses down the tightly fitted, smooth material of her dress, and she sucked in a giggle as he found a ticklish spot near her bellybutton.

His hands purposefully bunched the skirt up over her thighs, mouth sliding hot kisses along the inside of her leg, and all of a sudden Jemma... wasn’t quite sure what was happening.

“Fitz,” she breathed, voice briefly faltering as he set his teeth gently into the tender skin of her upper thigh. “What are you doing?”

Eyes flicking up to meet hers with sudden insecurity, Fitz straightened where he knelt before her. “Um. I was gonna....” He pointedly dropped his gaze to the apex of her thighs, and her cheeks flushed as she realized what he was saying.

“ _Oh_!” 

“If you don’t –”

“No,” she squeaked, reaching back so she could support herself with her hands, “yes, please, I, um, I do. If you want to.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know what cunnilingus was, but rather that she hadn’t quite connected the act she’d read about in Kinsey’s study to the list of potential activities she and Fitz would be trying tonight. According to the science, it was a frequently successful method for female sexual stimulation and release, and popular both in and outside of marriage. The idea of experiencing it stunned and excited her, and she watched as a relieved half-smile flashed across Fitz’s face. Briefly, she wondered where he had gotten the idea to begin with, since he had professed that he’d never read the studies she’d mentioned, but his touch swept the question right out of her mind. 

Not needing to say anything else, he returned to sliding warm kisses up her thigh, the fingers of his left hand curling around the waistband of her knickers. Jemma shifted around to let him tug off her underwear, his hands then curving around her bare bum to slide her just up to the edge of the mattress. Her legs fell apart naturally, opening her to his gaze. She shifted her hips, resisting the urge to hide herself away, especially since the room was now bathed in light. As he adjusted her position, the press of his fingers so close to where she wanted them made her shiver. 

Fitz shuffled forward on his knees and hesitantly parted her labia with two fingers, taking a moment to study the most intimate part of her body before pressing his lips just above her entrance in a kiss. With her fingers tightening in the blanket, she sucked in a strangled gasp. So very different from the feeling of his fingers rubbing between her legs, his lips were soft and firm and somehow even more wonderful. When he darted his tongue out to take a calculated lick at her slick flesh, she let out a soft noise, unsure now whether it was from surprise or pure pleasure. 

“You should lie down.” 

Jemma blinked her eyes open to see Fitz watching her with such unreserved lust that it took her breath away. “Wh-what –” 

“You should lie down,” he said again, releasing her bum to reach for one of her hands where it was fisted into the covers. His other hand feathered up over where her dress’ second strap had fallen, and then smoothed down to encourage the bend of her lower back. “It’ll be, um, better. For you.” 

She wondered again how on earth he knew any of this, but at the gentle insistence of his fingers, she gave in. Lying back on the green coverlet, Jemma couldn’t stop herself from stretching her head up so she could see Fitz. Again widening the spread of her legs, he leaned in to lick a firm stroke from her entrance to her clitoris, and her whole body gave a sharp jerk. His tongue against her clit was like lightning through her veins, flicking again over the sensitive nub when he realized that had been to what she’d reacted so fiercely. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, lips parting on a shocked moan, and Fitz made a satisfied hum, the vibrations sending a whole new wave of pleasure straight through her. He was clearly experimenting, sliding his tongue up and down, waiting for her response before moving on, briefly dipping it inside her entrance and holding one leg more tightly to counter her instinctive bucking in return. He slid his free hand up her abdomen and gently slipped his fingers beneath the dress so he could cup her breast, kneading the pert flesh and sending another wash of desire through her. Eventually, Fitz began to steadily build her arousal, stroking his tongue against a deliciously sensitive spot just beneath her clit over and over again until she was whimpering his name. Her whole body was alight with sensation, hips rocking up to meet his mouth, and she could feel the nexus of her orgasm tightening deep within. The innermost part of her passage contracted around nothing, and she thought dimly about how much she wanted something inside her right now, completing that last step of arousal, stroking that delicious ache away. Jemma almost reached down to bring one of his hands to her entrance, to prompt him through the last puzzle piece he was missing, but then he hummed against her center again, removing the hand for which she had been about to reach from her thigh, and she forgot all about that half-conscious thought.

Somewhere, she was dimly aware of the sound of a zipper being undone, but then Fitz circled his tongue purposely around that perfect bundle of nerves and she cried out. Her back arched, the skirt’s pink cloth slipping against her legs, and even if she wanted to open her eyes, she couldn’t bear to, her whole world narrowing down to the flicks of his tongue. A sudden groan rumbled from his lips against her most sensitive skin, and the vibrations triggered a tremor of pleasure that was nearly violent in its force, causing Jemma to moan shakily in turn.

Then, however, Fitz pulled suddenly away, hot breath washing against her inner thigh, and she made a pained, instinctive whine. “Oh Fitz,” she begged, “Fitz, please, oh please don’t stop, oh please, oh _please_ , keep – keep going... please, please, please....” 

Between her legs, he let out a low grunt, shifting the way he held onto her, and finally once again pressed his mouth to her clit. He returned immediately to the sucking, licking rhythm he’d found just before his sudden pause, and Jemma let out a cry of arousal loud enough that she dimly wondered if the poorly constructed cabin would actually contain the sound. Heat spread through her quickly, building, spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes, her muscles twitching as they processed the feeling. His fingers dug into her bum and thigh, holding her in position as his mouth worked and worked at her until everything other than his lips and tongue faded away, and her whole world was his licking and humming. Her climax crashed over her in a sudden wave, hips rocking frantically back against Fitz’s mouth to wring out every drop of pleasure. 

At last, hormones coursing through her veins, Jemma lay panting and shivering on the mattress, one arm flung out loosely on the covers and the other hand curled onto her stomach. Breathing heavily, Fitz leaned against the side of the bed, his forehead pressed against her inner thigh. The cold air began to feel uncomfortable on her center, still slick with come, and she shifted around, trying to close her legs without either trapping Fitz or kneeing him in the face. Fortunately, he took the hint, making a small noise of satisfaction as he gave her thigh a gentle, sucking kiss, and then pulled back enough that he could guide her legs together and tug her skirt down to give her some modicum of coverage. She let out a slow, contented sigh, blinking her eyes open to see him rummaging around with something next to the bed. The distinct sound of a zipper being either closed or opened again cut through the peaceful chirping of the crickets outside of the cabin, and Fitz pushed himself up onto his feet, holding a bundle of clothes from the floor of his room.

Their eyes met, and a lazy smile spread across Jemma’s face. “Hi,” she whispered, reaching one hand out towards him. Seeming stunned in his own right, Fitz grinned down at her, moving the clothes into his right hand so he could briefly squeeze her fingers with his left.

“I’m, uh, gonna be right back?” he said, gesturing towards his bathroom, and she nodded, watching as he hurried out of her sight. 

After giving herself another few seconds of lazing on the bed, Jemma pushed herself up into a sitting position, distracted momentarily by how sensitive her skin continued to be after such prolonged stimulation. That odd, aching sense of emptiness inside her made itself known again, and she closed her eyes briefly as she inhaled. Now, she suspected, would be an excellent time for them to try penetrative sex again.

Behind her, she heard the bathroom door creak back open, and she twisted around. Fitz had removed his jeans and button-down shirt, now only clad in his green-striped boxers and white undershirt, and he was drinking a glass of water. Jemma got slowly to her feet on the opposite side of the bed, turning so that she could catch his gaze and hold it. Reaching around to the back of her dress, she slid down the zipper, letting the pink material flutter to her feet and baring her to him completely. Fitz’s eyes widened as he watched, choking a little on his drink and lowering the glass. 

“I want to have sex again,” she said quietly, kneeling on her side of the bed. This feeling of being entirely exposed in front of another person still made her want to cover up, but she resisted the urge. 

In all fairness, the way Fitz reacted helped ease her nerves. He let out a strangled little whine, staring at her naked body with his mouth slightly open. “Now?”

Her eyebrow arched in surprise, and she tilted her head. Wondering if she needed to be more seductive – he certainly hadn’t needed this much encouragement last time – Jemma sat back on her heels and spread her knees further apart. Heat flushed into her cheeks as his eyes fixed in between her legs, where she was surely still wet from his recent attentions, and she again fought the desire to hide.

“Now,” she repeated, and held her hand out to him.

Breathing heavily, Fitz shuffled towards her, seemingly hypnotized by the shadows between her parted thighs. As he entwined their hands together, he let out a longing groan, and then squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

Jemma frowned, nose wrinkling. “What? Why not?” 

“I, um....” He glanced up at her, mortification written across his face, and reached over to put the glass on the bedside table. “Sort of – finished. Before, when I was... and you were....”

When he gestured weakly to the space on the bed next to her, Jemma let out a sudden “ _oh_ ” of understanding. That explained why he’d been so affected in the midst of pleasuring her. “Oh,” she repeated, tugging him down to sit on the bed across from her, “but that’s not something to be embarrassed by, Fitz. That’s, um – I’d say that’s good, even. Right?” 

“Bloody fantastic,” he muttered, eyes wandering back down her body. “But, so, um – y’know. I can’t have sex.” 

“Yet,” Jemma corrected with a smile, and leaned forward to brush her mouth against his, allowing her tongue dart briefly out against his lips. “Teenage boys are supposed to be quite virile.”

“ _Virile_ ,” he retorted incredulously, just before she kissed him soundly. Whatever wry comeback or argument he may have had in mind never made it out of his mouth, as he was easily and quickly distracted by her lips. Fitz’s arms curled around her back, hands sliding up her bare skin so that he could snug her in against his chest, and she made a low, pleased sound.

The whole night was theirs and theirs alone; rushing, in fact, was the opposite of what Jemma wanted.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the rating for this chapter. ;-)

Keeping their mouths moving gently together, Jemma pushed against Fitz’s shoulder, rearranging them so that he was lying against the bed with her stretched across his torso. After taking a brief second to get him to tug off his tee, she intertwined their legs, sliding one foot against his calf, and he let out a happy hum as she pressed their mouths together again. This kind of kissing was completely different again from the rest of the week, lips and tongues moving lazily against one another without needing to rush towards anything at all. She rather liked it, Jemma thought, this softer kind of loving.

Fitz couldn’t keep still beneath her, one hand smoothing up and down the length of her spine while the other brushed softly against her face, trailed over her arm, skimmed her bum and then darted back up to her neck, as if he wasn’t sure he would be allowed to get away with that much forwardness. Grinning against his lips, she shimmied closer in and rested one hand over the quick patter of his heart. As far as she was concerned, he was allowed to be as forward with her as he liked – especially after their most recent activity. 

When they eventually needed to part for air, Jemma moved forward just enough so she could rub their noses together. The sheer adoration on Fitz’s face as she stared down at him was addictive, and she fervently hoped that he knew exactly how happy he made her.

“Um, can I ask you a question?” she said, keeping her voice low. No other cabins were truly near enough for their volume to be a problem, but speaking any louder seemed wrong, as if it would break the spell of contentment she felt had been woven between them.

“Yeah, course,” Fitz answered quickly, eyes roaming over her face much as his hands continued sweeping over her skin. 

“Have you slept with many girls?”

His eyes widened and he spluttered, coughing and then replying in a hoarse voice. “What?! Why –?!”

“I don’t mind,” she said, trying to seem as if the idea of him going off with loads of other girls didn’t make something in her stomach twist sadly. “I’m just curious.”

“ _No_ ,” he said vehemently, looking for all the world as if he was insulted by the thought. “No, I – I mean, I thought you knew. When we – you’re my first, Jemma.” Fitz cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to where her hand still lay over his heart. “First anything, really. Only anything.” 

“ _Really_?” He flitted hurt blue eyes back up at her, and she rushed to clarify. “I mean, that’s – I’d thought that was true, when we... but what you just did, Fitz,” she said, a shiver rolling through her, “the cunnilingus.” He blanched at the word, and she halted her train of thought. “What?” 

“That’s what it’s called?” Fitz frowned at her as if they were talking about cat livers. “Cunni....” 

“Cunnilingus,” she repeated, eyes narrowing. “Yes, that’s the technical term. ‘Eating out’ is more colloquial, or... why?” 

He wrinkled his nose in thought. “Sounds awful. _Cunnilingus_. Bit like a fungus.”

Jemma groaned, and whacked him perhaps a little harder than was necessary on the shoulder, which he was too slow to dodge. “Oh, for God’s... _anyway_. When you were performing _cunnilingus_ on me,” she continued pointedly, “it felt like you had to have.... It’s very... advanced.” A blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she had to drop her gaze. “It _felt_ advanced.”

It had felt, if she were quite able to find the proper words, rather like he had taken her apart and put her back together again ten times over with his tongue alone, and she was extremely eager to have his mouth on her again. She was already thinking about what it might be like next time, were he to go slowly, to work at her with his mouth until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. All they needed to do was figure out a way to make actual intercourse feel that way, too, and she would consider their sexual relationship to be quite complete.

“Oh,” he said, sounding something between relieved, pleased, and embarrassed all at once. “Well, that’s not... I, um, got some advice. After you didn’t like what we did last time.” 

Jemma made a loud, incredulous noise. “Excuse you! I very much liked it last time, or we wouldn’t be here again!”

He gave her a fond half-smile. “It’s okay, Jemma –”

“Just because I didn’t climax doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.” She pushed up into a sitting position, discomfited by the thought that he didn’t believe she’d enjoyed herself. Reluctantly, Fitz followed her up, watching her warily as he leaned back on his hands. “I didn’t come into your bed to get off, Fitz, if that’s all I wanted I would have just done it myself.” The fact that she had only managed to orgasm twice before on her own did not lessen her point. “I wanted to be with you. _Want_ to be with you. Wanted to feel like... like there was nothing that could come between us.” She glanced down at her hands, twisted together over her bare legs. “I really liked feeling that way with you, and I just – I need you to believe me.” The idea of him not understanding how much that afternoon had meant to her just because of one measly orgasm had sent an odd dart of panic through her, although she wasn’t quite sure why. 

“Alright,” he replied, voice much softer as he reached up to smooth his knuckles beneath her chin. “Sorry, no, I do believe you. Promise.” Another second passed, and he leaned forward to brush a chaste kiss against her lips.

“Okay. Good.” Jemma wrinkled her nose, trying to let go of her disconcert. “You really went to someone for _advice_ because of that?” 

“Yeah, but I swear,” he hurried to add, eyes widening earnestly, “I didn’t tell him who you were, or anything, just that I wanted to... to satisfy a girl.”

Her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. “ _Who_? You – I mean, we haven’t done very much talking when we... but you... don’t like talking about it. Sex, or... things.”

For a few seconds, Fitz just stared back at her, something brewing behind his eyes, almost as if he was torn between two thoughts. Then his mouth quirked upwards in a shy little grin. “Well, I guess I feel like we do alright without talking,” he murmured before leaning forward to capture her mouth in a teasing kiss.

She couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, pushing him away with a shake of her head. “Ugh, _Fitz_!” 

Lying back against the bed and pulling her with him, he returned to her original question, hands continuing their soothing exploration of her bare skin. “D’you remember I said I, erm, borrowed the condoms from Davis? Well, when I went to give him a new box and apologize for breaking into his room –” 

“What?!” Jemma broke in, staring incredulously over at him. “You _broke_ into his _room_?”

Fitz swallowed. “Uh, yeah. I mean, you were waiting, and I really wanted to... I mean, we... and he wasn’t there, he was prepping for dinner service. I bought him a whole new box anyway, so.”

She burst into a fit of giggles, resting her forehead on his bare chest until she could breathe again. “I cannot believe that you _stole_ the condom we used to have sex for the first time!” 

“Borrowed,” he returned stubbornly, cheeks distinctly redder than they had been a few seconds before. “And he said he didn’t care.”

Although she wanted to point out that he had borrowed the box of condoms but obviously had not returned the condom itself, Jemma refrained. Instead, she just let out a small noise of amusement and rubbed her hand between his pectorals and down to his stomach. “So you asked... Davis?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, watching the rhythmic progress of her hand up and down his chest. “It was awkward as arse, but, y’know, worth it.” 

“Oh, really,” Jemma said, unable to help the grin that spread across her face.

Fitz took in a low breath before he looked back up at her, and then reached up to cup her cheek in his right hand. “I just want you to have the best, Jemma,” he murmured, and her pulse quickened. There was something hovering beneath his earnestness, something a little worried, and she had the abrupt realization that he didn’t think he embodied what he thought she deserved.

Trying to look as serious as possible, she mirrored him by placing her left hand along the curve of his cheek, brushing her thumb against his skin. “I do,” she assured him, unable to help the smile that spread across her face again. Wonderment flashed across his expression, and without saying anything else, he kissed her, moving her over so that their bare chests were pressed more directly together. “D’you think you’re ready yet?” she whispered as she slid her lips and tongue down his neck, and he shivered. 

“Dunno,” he managed to get out. “Not, ah, exactly?”

Encouraged by the goosebumps she’d elicited, Jemma decided that it was time for her to be more proactive about what she wanted. And at this moment, all she really wanted was to have sex with her boyfriend. Feeling playful – and a mite impatient – she pushed up so that she was sitting next to Fitz. She let her fingers skim teasingly down his abdomen, circling pointedly over the slightly darker trail of hair that disappeared beneath his boxers. 

“Can I take these off?” 

Staring up at her, Fitz swallowed. “Uhm, yeah. Okay.”

Jemma took hold of the elastic waistband and tugged, sitting back on her heels as she dropped the last of his clothes over the side of the bed. Looking at Fitz spread out nude beneath her, she wondered briefly if this was how he had felt before, seeing her beneath him on his bed: A mix between arousal and pride and power, as well as the hope that she could measure up to whatever was going on in his head. His eyes were sliding up and down the length of her own exposed body, giving her the confidence boost she needed. Not telling him her plan, she crawled up so that she could begin trailing hot, messy kisses along his collarbone and down his chest. She detoured over to his pectorals, scraping her teeth lightly over one nipple just to feel his indrawn breath and the shaky press of his hands against her skin.

A large part of her was cataloguing him so that she might be able to arouse him again faster next time, taking note of the differences in his physical reactions between now and before. In particular, naturally, her attention was focused on his cock; although it hadn’t hardened all the way yet, she felt it twitch as she slid further down to mouth along his treasure trail. His muscles trembled slightly as she traced the contours of his hips with her tongue, and when she looked up, Fitz was watching her with intense fascination, pupils blown wide. 

Driven by orgasm-induced overconfidence, Jemma didn’t even pause before dragging her tongue over his still soft cock, although she did glance back up at the drawn-out moan he made in response.

“Do that again?” he said hoarsely, one hand reaching down to thread their fingers together over his hip. “Please?”

Feeling both obliging and smug, Jemma did as he asked, licking along the length of his shaft over and over again until his skin was slick and she could feel it begin to harden. A familiar ache faded in between her own legs, her hips rocking briefly in time with her mouth’s motions, in search of her own relief. Thinking about what she wanted most in this moment, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and slid her whole mouth down around it as far as she could go, sucking and stroking with her tongue as she lifted back up. Fitz swore, his hips bucking up to follow her mouth, and as she let him fall from her she was pleased to see his shaft now standing at rigid attention. Fascinated by the aroused tremble of him beneath her, Jemma spent a last few seconds suckling at the head of his cock, reveling in the shocked little grunts he made at her every action. When she flicked her eyes up, his cock still in her mouth, she felt heat dart through her at the transparent lust written in the shocked 'o' of his mouth and the fluttering of his eyelids. She made a mental note to try this again with Fitz another time when she wasn’t so eager to have him inside of her.

Her lips twitched up at the desperate, stifled groan he made when she crawled away to reach for the box of condoms. “Are you –”

“Ready,” he interrupted quickly, shaking hands grabbing for the condom box once it was within his grasp. “Definitely, definitely ready.” Condom packets spilled out of the box onto the blanket, but he hurriedly shoved the excess onto the floor.

She quickly hopped over to turn off the too-bright overhead light as she waited for him to slide the condom on, leaving the room lit only by the two bedside lamps. Once he was finished, she kneeled next to him and reached up to caress his cheek, the distinct and familiar emotion now spreading through her chest making her feel shy just as much as it made her terribly eager to keep going. Fitz watched her as if he were hypnotized, lust not quite dimming the distinct affection that colored his expression every time he looked at her. The way he began to shift his hold on her suggested that he thought they were about to switch positions, but she had no intention of ceding the higher ground. Instead, she gently pushed him back so that he was lying on the bed once again, willing to follow her lead but confusion written across his face. 

The loudest sound in the room was their heavy breaths, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he waited to see what she would do. Taking in a quick breath, she straddled his hips, moving forward enough for his cock to nearly be pressed up against her. When she hesitated, he made a soft noise to draw her gaze back up to his face.

“Are _you_ ready?” 

A smile flashed across her face, and she nodded before reaching over to take his hand from where it had settled around her thigh. “Yeah,” she whispered, and then slipped his fingers between her thighs.

Fitz quickly picked up her train of thought and rubbed firmly over her clit, and the sound she made in response was alarmingly similar to a bleat, followed by a wiggling of her hips that kept him from withdrawing his fingers. The feeling had surprised her, a hot burst of pleasure very different from the steady build she had come to expect. All of her nerve-endings felt hypersensitive, but in the best way, as if his fingers were building on the orgasm she’d had earlier.

After a few delectable seconds of winding her up, he reached down to slide two fingers inside where she was slick and ready, and Fitz let out something between a groan and a swear. Jemma hummed at the feeling, bucking forward briefly to encourage him and then reaching down to wrap her hand around his cock. He let out a surprised little grunt at the feeling of her hand on him, slipping his hand away to grab onto her thigh. Once she shifted forward enough, she lined him up with her entrance and then tilted her hips down, taking him all the way inside in one smooth thrust. They both moaned, her eyes nearly fluttering shut at the rush of endorphins caused by having him inside her again. Rather than the pain of the previous time, however, her muscles stretched eagerly to accommodate him, a brief pinching sensation fading quickly away. The hormones from her first climax were still making their way out of her system, her previous and current arousal helping to adjust her far faster. She rotated her hips slightly, finding just the right angle, and pressed her hands to his abdomen to steady herself.

Fitz swore, face contorting in pleasure as his head fell back onto the mattress. “Oh, oh _fuck_ , Jemma,” he groaned tightly, fingers tightening around her hips. “That’s so good –” 

“It is,” she replied, breathless with the sensation of him finally filling that ache inside herself. “Oh God, it _is_....” 

With that, she finally began to move, her first few thrusts halting as she figured out how best to move from this position. Eventually, she settled on a deep, quick rocking motion that took him as far inside her as she could manage while allowing her to move fast enough to create just the right amount of friction. Her breasts bounced as she sped up, and his eyes flickered over to them. He bit down on his lower lip, letting out soft noises of appreciation as he stared at her chest.

Light caught in the ends of his curls against the beige sheets, giving him an almost halo-like effect where he lay beneath her. Underneath her fingers, she could feel his abdominal muscles working where he tried to buck back up against her, the position not quite allowing him to do so. For a few long seconds, Jemma allowed herself to close her eyes, focusing on the thick slide of him inside her, on the desperate clutch of his fingers against her waist and her bum. The pleasure of having his cock stroke rhythmically within her was completely different from having him mouthing at her sensitive skin, and she wanted to memorize this, too. 

“You feel so good,” she panted, opening her eyes again and steadying herself against his chest as she sped up. “Oh, _Fitz_....”

“Jemma,” he groaned, hips bucking unevenly back against hers. “Oh Christ, please, please let me....” He pushed shakily up into a sitting position, grabbing firmly onto her arse with one hand and causing heat to jolt through her. “Let me try?”

For a few more seconds, she continued to stroke his cock inside her, not entirely willing to give up the steadily building pleasure or the sense of control. Clearly overwhelmed, he tried to match her movements from his position, leaning in so that their mouths could meet messily in the middle. This was good, too, she thought dimly, him sitting so she could reach his lips while she continued thrusting him inside herself. And God, she loved his lips and tongue.

With a shuddered whimper, Jemma ground down one more time against him, prompting another groan from Fitz as she slipped to the side and off of him. Only waiting as long it took for them to reorient themselves with him on top, Fitz crawled back over her, lined their hips up, and thrust deeply inside with a bitten off grunt.

The new angle surprised her for its difference of feeling, his cock somehow stretching her in a way it hadn’t when she’d been on top, and she gasped against his cheek. “Okay?” he managed to get out, freezing his movements until he felt her nod quickly.

“Just different,” she whispered, letting out a soft moan as he stroked into her a little more slowly. “Oh, oh God, still – _ah!_ – good! _So_ good.”

As he began to move, she curled her legs up around his thighs, giving herself more freedom to rock back up against him. She had to squeeze her eyes shut at the new wash of feeling their rhythm was sending through her whole body. His hips gyrated against hers, matching her own movements and helping his cock to reach different, amazing places inside her that she hadn’t felt their first time. With a start, she realized that he was moving against her now in the same way he had been on the dance floor earlier that evening, both of them including that little twist that now had her whimpering against his jaw.

Inhaling, she tipped her head back so she could catch his gaze, and when their eyes met she couldn’t help the soft noise of surprise that fell from her lips. Fitz watched her intently, irises deep pools of blue in the dim bedroom, and something about his expression made her dizzy with longing to somehow be even closer than they already were. At his next stroke, she let out another quiet sound of pleasure, and he carefully sped up. He tried to tuck his face against her cheek, but she twisted her head to keep their eyes locked on each other, wanting to say something but entirely unsure what. Understanding flitted across Fitz’s face, and, staring back at her as their bodies writhed together, he brushed his lips against hers. Perhaps Jemma wasn’t sure of the words she felt hovering between them, but she had the sense that he knew what she wanted to say anyway.

Her hands roamed over his sweaty back, one slipping down to dig her fingers into the taut muscles of his bum. Fitz groaned her name, bucking forward harder as he tried to maintain that same twist of his hips, and suddenly sharp pleasure flashed through Jemma’s whole body. The faster movement and changed angle now had him pressing firmly against her clit as he thrust inside her, and she cried out, back arching to prolong the feeling. She was close, suddenly so close to the brink, sensations building atop each other, and he clutched tighter to her shoulders as he drove them steadily forward. On the cusp of bliss, desperate to fall over the edge upon which she teetered, she slipped one hand between them to rub firmly over her clit.

“Fitz,” she let out in a soft cry, bucking unevenly up against him, “Fitz, I’m – I’m –” And then her second orgasm took her by surprise, crashing over her in a flash of heat and arousal and love. 

As she came down from the high, color bloomed on her cheeks when she realized the certainty with which she had thought the last word. However fast this thing with her and Fitz had come about, she knew that her own feelings were unmistakably founded upon _love_. Not maybe-love, or almost-love, but love in its purest, most determined form. 

Murmuring Fitz’s name again, Jemma let her head fall back onto the mattress and her eyes slip closed, focusing on the overload of pleasure that was washing over and over again through her whole body. Even though she had finished, it still felt good to have him hot and hard inside her, stretching her inner muscles just right as the last of her climax spread through her system, and she hummed as she ground up against him. He made a small grunt, thrusting desperately fast and then stilling abruptly as he came apart on a shout, fingers clutching her shoulders a little too hard and hips twitching forward as far as he could go, his forehead pressed hard against hers. With a long, low groan, he relaxed over her, his lips sliding along her cheek as if he’d meant to kiss her but had missed and didn’t have the energy to make up for it. 

“Fitz,” she breathed at last, scratching her fingers through his hair. He made a small noise of acknowledgement against her neck, and she smiled. “Fitz,” she said again, mostly because she just liked the way his name felt upon her tongue, the perfect length and sound. 

“What?” he mumbled, and she chuckled.

“Fitz,” she repeated, but this time she twisted her head so that she could press their mouths together, and when he sighed he did so against her lips.

“ _What_?” he said again, brows now scrunched in confusion, and raised himself onto his elbows. 

“I just like saying that.” Jemma knew her smile was a little sappy, but she felt too good at that moment to care, enjoying the press of his body against her and the feeling of him still inside her. 

“My name?” She made a hum of agreement, rubbing one foot along his calf, and he let out a low chuckle. “You _really_ are an odd bird.” 

“Your odd bird,” she returned, stretching up for more languid kisses.

Fitz grinned against her lips, one hand reaching up to smooth his knuckles against her jaw. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured, kissing her one more time before he shifted around to better support his own weight. In doing so, he separated their hips, looking worriedly up when Jemma didn’t quite suppress a low hiss in time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mumbled, tapping her fist gently against his shoulder. “I’m not going to break, I’m fine.” Truthfully, the sensation as he’d slipped out of her had been nearly pleasurable, and she already missed that inimitable closeness. When he flickered his eyes down, as if he was considering checking himself, she pushed harder against him. “Go clean up.” 

Mumbling his assent, Fitz crawled off the bed and padded into bathroom, giving her a brief but appreciable view of his surprisingly pert bum. She grinned to herself at the thought, quickly cleaning herself up with tissues from the bedside table, disposing of them, and then hopping back into bed. By the time he returned, she was in the midst of slipping beneath the sheets and tucking the hem beneath her arms. 

“Oh,” he said when he caught sight of her, sounding oddly disappointed.

Jemma blinked and arched an eyebrow, watching as he hunted around the bed, presumably for his boxers. “What?” 

“You, um,” he muttered as he tugged on his underwear, “covered up.”

“So did you,” she pointed out, and he glanced down at his hips.

“Oh. Right. I mean, I was just thinking...” he said, trailing off as he dropped next to her on the mattress. Crooking his leg so he could face her, she noted that a bit of color had faded into his cheeks as he spoke. “Since this is sorta our only opportunity to, um, be ourselves, without anyone else being around, I thought maybe you’d want to just, um, not worry about clothes, or things like that.” 

Jemma let out a small snort of amusement. “By which you mean you’d like to be able to stare at my breasts as much as you’d like.”

Shoulders curling forward, Fitz shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to.”

She rolled her eyes; he was being particularly silly. Sitting up straight on the bed, she let the sheet fall down to her waist. Predictably, his eyes dropped immediately to her breasts, roving over them as if he hadn’t spent a good amount of time becoming intimately acquainted with said body parts already. 

“What do you like about them?”

He frowned, and glanced back up at her face. “Your boobs?”

“Yes. Obviously I’ve noticed your fascination, but as I am not sexually attracted to women, I don’t understand what about them you find appealing. I’m curious.” Jemma shrugged, and when the movement jiggled her breasts slightly, his gaze dipped briefly back down. 

“Erm. I dunno?” he offered hesitantly. “They look nice?”

“Nice how?”

Fitz wrinkled his nose, eyes flitting between her bared breasts and her face, as if he couldn’t quite decide where it would be appropriate to look. “All sort of – round? And soft? And they,” he said on a happy sigh, head tilting slightly to the right, “fit perfectly in my hands.”

“So is it the size ratio that you find appealing? The geometric shape?” 

Making a garbled noise, he threw his hands halfway up into the air. “I dunno, Jemma!” 

Jemma frowned and partially crossed her arms. “You’re not being helpful.”

“Well, you try it then,” he stammered. “What do you like about, I dunno, male anatomy?” 

Pointedly arching an eyebrow, she let out a sharp tut. “As I have only ever interacted with your _male anatomy_ – or, to use the actual word, penis – I can only say what I like about yours. Which is,” she continued over his spluttering, raising her hands to tick off items on her fingers, “that I like its erect size and shape because it fits quite well inside my vaginal passage. It’s large enough that I can feel you pushing into me, but also reasonably sized enough that I can give you fellatio without much discomfort, and intercourse didn’t hurt very much after the first time. I really enjoyed both orgasms tonight, obviously, but I found the one from vaginal intercourse to be especially...” she trailed off, needing to clear her own throat. “Nice. Although since our sample size is currently only two, it could just be because tonight’s was my second orgasm within the space of an hour. We’ll have to determine whether or not that’s the case during future sexual experiments.” 

Fitz stared at her mutely, mouth hanging open. “Fellatio,” he croaked at last. “That’s –” 

“Sucking your cock,” she clarified, ignoring the way his face had gone bright red. “I didn’t do it for very long, but I’m interested in trying that again at some point. I think I might have a previously undiscovered oral fixation, as I rather liked having your cock in my mouth. Bit like a popsicle, but more fun.”

Letting out a high-pitched squeak, he dropped his face into his hands. “Jemma,” he said hoarsely, “I am going to get hard again if you keep talking like that.”

Her expression brightened, and she fought back the urge to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. We _could_ see if it’d be possible for us to both orgasm three times in as many hours.” She glanced down at her lap, and made a small hum. “Although, I... well. I think I’m done for the night, actually,” she admitted, giving him a shy smile when he glanced up over the tips of his fingers. “I’m a bit tired.” And she still felt a mite of residual soreness, but considering his near-militant aversion to the idea of her being hurt in any way, she decided not to mention that. 

“Oh! Yeah, right.” Fitz straightened, shifting around slightly on the mattress. “Um, d’you want to go to sleep now?” 

Jemma shook her head. “Not right away. We can, um, keep talking for a while. But maybe... we could get ready for bed?”

Without answering, he made a small noise and leapt off the bed, startling her enough that she tugged the sheets partway up her bare chest in surprise. “I got you these,” Fitz said, padding right up to her with a small pile of three folded towels held out. “Y’know, for – whatever you need. And I put a cup for you next to the sink. Wasn’t sure you’d need that, but –” He was cut off by Jemma crawling to her knees and tugging him in for a kiss. With a pleased little sound, he dumped the towels next to her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, hands sliding up the bare skin of her back and down to curve reverently over her bum.

When she finally broke away, she brushed their noses together upon a smile. “Thanks,” she said at last, resting their foreheads together. “You thought of everything. And I noticed that you even cleaned up the floor a bit,” she said, teasing. He had clearly primarily shoved everything beneath the bed, but she had noticed the effort all the same.

Fitz sucked in a breath and reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. “Just, y’know. Wanted you to feel at home.”

“Oh,” she whispered, pulse quickening in response. He was looking at her in that new way, again, the way that simultaneously made Jemma want to hide and stare back at him for hours.

“Go on,” he mumbled at last, ducking his head and scooping up the towels to plop them into her arms.

Before she traipsed over to the bathroom, she went to the drawer that Fitz had given to her earlier that morning. It felt like days ago that she had stashed her overnight supplies up here, and she nibbled at her lip as she quickly picked out what she needed. Even though he had already seen all of her – and touched most of her, too – she still felt a bit awkward standing in his room completely naked. A low sigh sounded behind her, and she turned around, briefly wishing she’d thought to drag the sheets with her. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he said, looking decidedly dejected, and she made a little tsk of annoyance. “It’s just, um – you’re gonna put on pajamas, huh?”

She let out a burst of laughter and shook her head. “What if I compromise? I wear pants and shorts, but that’s it.” With the summer heat, her normal pajama shirt at the resort had only consisted of a camisole anyway, so the thought of leaving that off didn’t bother her.

His expression immediately brightened, and she had to resist the urge to taunt him for being so transparent. “Yeah, that’s, um, good, y’know. If you want to.” 

When she had finished preparing for sleep, Jemma trotted out of the bathroom to see Fitz lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling with a somewhat dopey smile on his face. After turning off one of the bedside lamps and putting her things back in his drawer, she quickly slid under the sheets next to him, resting one arm over his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“Hi Fitz,” she said, kissing his cheek, and he chuckled.

“Long time no see,” he deadpanned, mimicking the lame teasing she’d done earlier that evening. Despite his joking, though, Fitz nuzzled down at her for more kisses, and she stretched up against him, reveling in the soft slide of his bare chest against her own.

The urge to just murmur his name over and over again, as she had earlier, nearly overtook her, but then a thought occurred to her. Surprise stretching over her features, Jemma pulled back to stare at her boyfriend. “Fitz – what’s your name?” 

He gave her a dry look. “Bit of an oxymoron, that sentence.”

“No, I mean, your real name. Your given name. You never told me.” She let out an embarrassed laugh. “I guess I never really asked.”

“Oh,” he muttered, nose wrinkling slightly. “It’s, um, Leopold, though it’s Leo on my permit.” 

Jemma gave herself a few seconds to process that, nodding and flattening her hand gently over his heart. “Leopold. And you don’t use it. Don’t you like it?” 

“Nah,” he said, eyes dropping to his chest. He paused and slipped his hand over hers, brushing his fingers over her skin. “My dad was the only one who ever called me Leo, anyway. Yelled it, more like. Mum liked her nicknames. She only ever called me Leopold if she was spitting angry,” he chuckled. Jemma forced herself to focus on the thought that had made him laugh, rather than the one prior to it that made her so angry she nearly saw red.

“Well, thank you for telling me,” she said quietly, tucking her head beneath his chin. “But I’m going to stick with Fitz, anyway. It’s my favorite.” 

He let out another laugh, a happier one this time – more relaxed, and less laden with thoughts of his occasionally troubled home life. “Your favorite _what_ , exactly? Your favorite word?”

Jemma hummed into a grin, nuzzling up to kiss his neck. “My favorite word – yes, I like that. ‘Fitz’ is my favorite word.” Silence fell between them, and she could practically feel him smiling above her. “Except maybe for cunnilingus. I quite liked the look on your face when I said that.”

For a few seconds, he coughed so hard she wondered if he was going to need a glass of water. “You’re a menace,” he managed to croak out eventually, staring after her as she reached over to switch off the other bedside light. When she finished, she snuggled a little closer in, feeling roundly pleased with herself. 

The conversation having petered out, they lay together quietly for a few moments, with Jemma watching the slips of moonlight peeking out from beneath his window curtains while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Midnight cicadas drowned out any noise outside their cabin, and briefly, she could pretend that they were adults and away on their own, private vacation. That outside this cabin didn’t await a whole host of real and difficult problems with which they would eventually have to deal. That for the foreseeable future, she could be Jemma, and he could be Fitz, and those was the only things in the whole world that mattered. 

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence at last, “I’ve never slept in a room with someone before.” Fitz hummed in agreement, his right hand stroking his fingers soothingly up and down her left arm, hair standing on end in the wake of his touch. “Is there anything I should know? Do you talk in your sleep, or snore, or have nightmares, or kick?” 

Although her tone was clearly teasing, his hand stilled, resting carefully over her arm, and she tilted her head back to look at him. Something uneasy hovered around his expression, and she shifted even more so she could see his face clearer.

“Dunno about most of that,” he said slowly. “I mean, I’m asleep, so how’d I know if I talk? But, um, I do have nightmares. Jerk awake sometimes. I, um, think I might yell or something, too, but I’m not sure. Again, y’know – sleeping.” 

“Oh,” she replied with a brief nose wrinkle. “I’m – I was kidding, really. I’m sorry you have nightmares.” Jemma rubbed a thumb against his chest, concerned by the discomfort etched on his face. “Do you – I mean, can I ask what they’re... or, is it – it’s better not to talk about them, isn’t it?”

Shrugging, Fitz continued to stare at the ceiling. “Might as well. They’ve all been ridiculous this summer, anyway. Not funny, I mean, but... yeah. They’ve been about you. When you fell into that creek.” She couldn’t help the incredulity that flashed across her face, and he saw, eyes flickering over to her and then back up again. “Obviously you were fine, y’know, you can even swim, I know that now, but I dunno. It keeps showing up in my head, like, ‘what if?’ And I know it’s stupid, so I never said –”

“Fitz, stop that,” she snapped, pushing up on her elbow as he turned wide eyes on her. “Stop saying that things you think or feel are stupid. They’re not. Nothing about you has ever been or will ever be stupid.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, color fading in high on his cheeks.

Jemma let out a huff of frustration, and then leaned in to press soft kisses along his nose and up to his forehead, intending to sooth herself as much as him. Few things made her as angry as the thought of him believing so ardently that he was _stupid_ in any way. “But I _am_ fine. I’m right here, and we’re together, and I l– am so, _so_ happy.” 

A bright smile spread across his face, and she wondered if she’d ever seen him smile as much in one day as he had tonight. “Me, too. This was the best date night ever, Jemma.” 

“It was,” she agreed, contentedly tucking her forehead into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I can’t wait to do it again.” 

Fitz settled her against him, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be a while though,” he said quietly, reaching up to entwine the fingers of her left hand with his right. “Winter hols maybe, but....”

“We’ve still got another couple of weeks here,” she said, dropping a chaste kiss to his neck. “We might be able to get another night in before we leave. And even if we can’t, that will make our next one even more special. We’ll have months to plan it.” 

His fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around her. “You’re the best, Jemma,” he whispered, resting his cheek against the top of her head. 

“So are you, Fitz,” she returned, laughing slightly at his choice of compliment.

In truth, Jemma was mostly just glad she’d managed to stop herself from dropping the horrifyingly inappropriate L-word into their conversation. As much as she was beginning to realize that her feelings for Fitz seemed to defy logic, it was still far too soon for her to be making any kind of grandiose declarations.


	13. Chapter 13

Still mostly asleep, Jemma wondered why she couldn’t move, why her body was pressed a little too hard into the mattress and her right arm was immobile. A breath feathered against the back of her neck, and she shivered. Her eyes blinked open to see a familiar hand curled limply over her left one on beige sheets, and she smiled as one word floated into her mind: _Fitz_.

In their sleep, they must have shifted around each other many times, having ended up with Jemma on her stomach and Fitz lying halfway over her back. His face was pressed against the back of her head, and she wondered briefly how he wasn’t choking on her hair. The slow and steady rise of his bare chest against her back told her that he was still asleep, and she snuggled further into the sheets, shifting her hand so she could squeeze her fingers gently around his. He felt so warm and solid against her, and although he was a bit heavy (all he needed to do was slip a little further onto the mattress for it to be truly comfortable), she found having him wrapped around her like this to be deeply soothing. If she didn’t have to worry about sneaking out early enough that she could avoid her parents – 

Alarm shot through Jemma, and she snapped her eyes open to look at the time. The bedside clock – of the same type she’d first seen Fitz fixing that afternoon she had searched him out – told her that she had plenty of time before she needed to leave, and she slumped forward onto the bed. Behind her, she could feel her boyfriend’s muscles begin to shift, and she cringed, knowing that her full-body panic was likely to blame for waking him. Since there was nothing to be done about that now, however, she twisted her head around on her pillow, raising one hand to move her hair out of her eyes. 

Fitz’s curls were stuck up at all angles, and she could just barely see the shadow of unshaved hair up along his jaw. His eyes were still shut tight, face halfway buried in his pillow, lashes dark against his cheek. As she moved, he let out a low, unhappy noise, and to her amusement he tightened his grip around her waist, tugging her further in.

“Don’t go,” he muttered into the pillow, brows drawn tightly together even in his state of near-sleep. “S’warm, comfy.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, dipping forward to nudge her nose against his.

Stilling, he blinked his eyes open, their bleariness evident despite the dimness of the bedroom. “Jemma,” he murmured, voice tinged with a hint of wonder. “Hi.” 

“Hi back.” She smiled and moved just enough that she could raise her right hand to press against his chest, although she was careful to breathe through her nose and not her mouth. The last thing she wanted was for Fitz to have any memory of her stinky morning breath. 

“Sorry,” he said, spreading his fingers out against her bare shoulder, “just – y’know, thought it was a dream.”

Her smile stretched even wider, and she nibbled at her lower lip. “Good enough to be one.”

“Yeah.” He leaned up to brush his lips against her forehead, and, unable to resist him any longer, she tilted her head up with the intention of giving him a good morning kiss. With a sharp inhale, Fitz jerked back. “Sorry,” he said, immediately wincing and rubbing his hand up and down her spine. “Sorry, but – I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

Jemma let out a peal of laughter, burying her face in the crook of his neck and giggling until she could manage to breathe again. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she finally explained, letting him brush away hair where it had fallen over her face. “About my morning breath.”

“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose in a way that was particularly adorable when combined with his rumpled bed hair. “Then why did you try to kiss me?”

“Because I wanted a good morning kiss.” A smile ticked up the corner of his mouth, and she slid her hand up his chest. “If we keep our mouths closed?”

He let out a small puff of air, and then nodded. His lips were warm and soft as they brushed against hers, and she sighed, tilting contentedly into him. Something pressed against her abdomen, and she inhaled, separating from his mouth as she realized he was hard. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and scooted his hips back, sounding mortified.

“Oh, _really_ ,” she said, snuggling back in again and waiting until he’d let her before she spoke. “You’ve been inside me, Fitz, I don’t think your morning erection is going to put me off.” Arranging herself so they were lying as closely together as possible without her body teasing his, she waited for him to stop wheezing above her before she spoke again. “Do you have one every morning?” 

“Erm,” he started, voice still somewhat hoarse. “No. But you’re here, and, um....” Fitz’s eyes dropped between them to where their chests were pressed together.

Grinning, Jemma tipped back onto the mattress and stretched her arms above her head, baring her breasts to his suddenly wide-awake gaze. “Topless?”

Fitz pushed up onto his elbow, eyes tracking the length of her body in the early morning light filtered below the curtains. “Yeah,” he said on a sigh, reaching out with one hand to skim over her right breast and abdomen. “Gorgeous.”

“Am I?” Wriggling her body slightly, she bit back a laugh as his eyes were drawn like magnets back to where her breasts jiggled.

“Y’know you are.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever said it,” she retorted primly, watching as his hand slid back up her abdomen to cup her breast. Jemma sighed, eyes fluttering briefly shut at the feeling of his hot palm against her skin. “I just have to take your word for it.” 

“You really, _really_ should,” he said with feeling, and then dipped down to press his lips to the hollow of her clavicle.

As he continued to trail his lips across her chest and then teasingly down over the softer skin of her breast, she scrunched her left hand into his curls. There was something enchanting about the still-sleepy slowness to his movements, the gentle ease of his touches and the languid brush of his lips. Just as she was debating whether or not she had time to let Fitz have his way with her once more, her eyes drifted over to where a blush orange had just begun to fade beneath the hems of the maroon curtains.

“Oh, Fitz,” she whispered, catching his attention just before he lowered his mouth to her breast. “It’s sunrise.”

Despite the brief but clear disappointment that flashed across his face, she wriggled out from beneath him and tugged the bed sheet with her as she trotted across the floor. Not bothering to cover her legs, Jemma wrapped the cloth around her torso and peeked around the edge of the curtain. Behind her, she could hear the mattress squeaking and a distinct yawn as Fitz slowly followed her lead.

“It’s amazing,” she breathed, glancing around as he padded up next to her. “You need to see this.” She pushed the curtains forward a few inches, just enough that they could both see while baring as little of the room to the outside as possible. 

“Jemma –” Fitz started, alarm written across his face, but she shushed him and tugged him forward to curve his arm around her waist.

“No one’s awake this early,” she assured him. “And it’s barely open. We’re fine.”

Beyond their window stretched the trees that curved beneath the staff residences, their tips just barely grazing the shimmering edge of the lake. The resort’s shadowed grounds were just beginning to fade into green, a pastel morning haze hovering over everything past the edge of the porch’s roof. Above it all stretched the sky’s stunning canvas, mottled blues and pinks with the sun’s burning arc just beginning to emerge over the horizon.

“Wow,” Fitz murmured behind her, and she smiled as she threaded their fingers together over her stomach. 

“Third time,” she teased. “Although I suppose this one wasn’t about me.”

“Oh no,” he said, leaning against the wall, “it was about you. Your hair’s pretty interesting in the morning.” Jemma let out a small noise of distress, reaching up with the intention of forcibly combing out any unsightly tangles, but before she could do anything he let out a fond laugh and batted away her hand. “I’m joking, your hair’s perfect.” 

“Ugh, _Fitz_!” Giving her head a brief shake, she rested more of her weight fully against him and gazed out at the spectacular sight before them.

In her peripheral vision, Jemma caught a flash of movement among the trees, and she leaned forward, squinting into the shadows.

“What?” Fitz said, tone nearly sleepy again.

Although she was fairly certain she hadn’t imagined it, she saw no further movement, even as the sky lightened the area further. “Nothing,” she said, tilting her head back to smile at him. “Nothing at all.”

 

\------

 

Not long after that, Jemma had to reluctantly extricate herself from the arms of her tired and cuddly boyfriend. Knowing better than to try to convince her to stay, Fitz just trailed after her as she got dressed, leaning on her whenever she stayed still long enough and making her wish she could just take him with her. 

As much as they both would have loved to repeat their stolen night together, they both knew when she left that morning that it was likely to be the only chance they had before the summer was out. To her relief, Jemma didn’t run into anyone on the paths back to her room, and neither of her parents was even awake yet. 

The next few days were far too busy for her to feel especially sad about not getting another full night alone with Fitz before the summer ended, as the whole resort was now focused on preparing for the end-of-year gala. Most importantly to Jemma, this week was when she would submit her formal proposal to the contest. In the end, the first level of the contest was a sham – there were only three submitted proposals to begin with, and so all three were “selected” to present to Howard Stark. (It seemed that the resort’s teenage contingent was far too interested in things like merengue and tanning to want to spend their summertime doing this type of work, much to Jemma’s chagrin. She suspected that the initial stage of the contest was merely to make the resort’s management look favorable and “exclusive” to Stark – or whoever was in charge of the grant side of his company’s operations.) 

The gala was scheduled for just about one week before everyone would pack their bags, to allow for a little more rest and relaxation prior to returning to the real world. Every guest was encouraged to do some kind of performance at the event, be it song, dance, or scientific presentation. In anticipation for the bevy of show numbers, there was a lot of set and stage preparation to be done, and in keeping with the resort’s “chip in” work ethic, every guest was assigned a task – as well as all the staff members, of course, who cheerfully oversaw their activities. 

Cheerfully, except, perhaps, for Fitz, who muttered darkly to Jemma any time they were able to sneak away that he was glad he hadn’t spent the rest of the summer learning that the whole lot of the other guests were idiots. She shushed him, first by pointing out that they were just after a bit of fun (“Well-meaning idiots,” he corrected himself), and then by kissing him into pleased silence. 

Since her proposed Golden Retriever presentation (only slightly modified to hide Fitz’s role) relied on the resulting product rather than a flashy set piece, Jemma was roped into helping paint a backdrop that would be used for a number of banal song and dance performances. Fitz was in charge of setting up the lighting schemes for every single number, which meant that for the ensuing few days he was grumpy more often than not. The sole exceptions were whenever the two of them managed to sneak a handful of seconds alone and out of sight – although those moments were few and far between.

One afternoon, while Fitz had been ceaselessly climbing up and down his ladder to adjust the stage lights, Jemma was stuck trying to make small talk with a couple of the other girls while they all painted large palm leaves. She had been briefly pleased with the assignment because it would continue to sell her lie to her parents about the night she had stayed with Fitz. After spending two full afternoons painting an incredibly ugly pattern while having to listen to the girls chatter about things that were irrelevant to her, however, Jemma was more than ready to return to spending all of her time with Fitz. How she would explain spending all of her time on her own or in Fitz’s cabin once the science contest was over would be problematic, but hopefully – if Stark accepted Fitz’s unorthodox entry and they won – they could use adapting the project as an excuse.

As Jemma put the finishing touches on a particularly garish palm leaf, she glanced up to see Fitz leaning against his ladder nearby, deep in conversation with one of the other teenage girls. An odd flash of heat swept through her gut, and she frowned, letting her hair fall in front of her face as she looked down at her knees. The other girl was quite pretty, with caramel-colored skin, flawless ringlet curls framing her face, and a chic flower-patterned dress hugging her hips. Although Jemma hadn’t spoken to her before, she recognized her from the group of friends who she’d overheard having risqué conversations about the teen boys at the resort.

“... must be good with your hands.” Her voice was smooth as silk, and Jemma couldn’t help the disgust written across her features as she peered through the curtain of her hair.

To her slight relief, Fitz looked as uncomfortable as she might have hoped, his arms crossed over his chest and nose half-wrinkled in confusion. “Erm. Yeah, I am.” 

“That’s exactly what you need in a dance partner!” Jemma’s eyebrows raised at the girl’s statement; unless she had very much misunderstood the aim of dancing, skill with one’s feet tended to be more necessary than with one’s hands. “We should totally go to the gala together, Fitz.” 

Unable to help the way her mouth dropped open, Jemma blinked up to meet Fitz’s eyes over the other girl’s shoulders. His mouth twitched in amusement, and he ducked his head before he spoke again. “Ah, no, sorry. I’m not – not much of a dancer. And I’ll be working, so....” He shrugged, briefly meeting Jemma’s eyes before he turned around to grab onto the ladder. “I’ll make sure there’s a good amount of purple during your performance, though, I can show you right now.” 

The girl looked disappointed, but a smile spread across Jemma’s face. Even though she knew that it was foolish for her to have been upset by someone asking her secret boyfriend out – he was a rather symmetrical and well-formed future engineer, after all – she had felt that way all the same. An odd urge to go over and kiss Fitz full on the mouth right in front of the girl in the flower dress nearly overtook her, but she just shook her head and shifted around on her knees so she could better reach the paint jar. There was nothing to be gained by suddenly becoming weirdly possessive over her best friend, who she had trusted to be a perfectly faithful boyfriend even before having it proven in front of her very eyes. That being said, as she swiped a careful streak of palm leaf green across the canvas, she wondered if this was a sign that she was ready for the two of them to stop hiding their relationship. They only had another week or so before they would be able to tell Jemma’s parents without risking Fitz being fired – and that wasn’t long at all.

“Hey there, Jemma,” came a familiar, weedy voice, startling her so much in the midst of refreshing the paint on her brush that she nearly tipped over the bucket. Green splashed all the way above her wrist, bucket tottering back on its end just before catastrophe struck the newly decorated canvas. Milton made a noise of disgust and stepped back, quickly inspecting his white trainers to make sure nothing had soiled him.

“Oh dear,” she muttered, holding her dripping hand over the bucket and glancing around herself for something on which to wipe her hand. When she looked up at Milton for help, he just sort of grimaced at the mess, and her eyes narrowed. “Could you –” 

“Miss Simmons?” Her nose wrinkled at hearing the formal title in Fitz’s voice, and she tilted her head back to see him in the midst of reaching out for her paint-soaked hand with a dry paint rag. “Take this....”

A relieved smile crossed her face, and she took the cloth from him, their fingers brushing briefly over the rough fabric. “Thank you, Fitz,” she said warmly, wrapping the rag around her hand so that she could push herself to her feet.

“Not a problem,” he replied, giving them both an awkward half-nod before trotting back to where his ladder awaited him.

Jemma watched him go for a few seconds, amused that he’d thought it necessary to address her as _Miss Simmons_ in front of Milton. As ever, her and Fitz’s friendship was no secret; she couldn’t imagine anyone being offended by them addressing each other using their first names.

When she turned back to Milton, however, his expression had taken on a distinctly sour note. “Can I help you with something, Milton?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about the gala,” he said sullenly, scuffing his foot against the brown paper that was acting as a drop protector for the dance floor. 

“Okay,” she offered as silence stretched between them again, only made somewhat less awkward by the hustle and bustle of the many other guests working and chatting in the large room. 

“We should go together,” he blurted, a splotchy red fading into his cheeks.

“Oh,” Jemma said, watching as her unenthused tone registered on Milton’s face.

“Our parents are expecting it.” His voice was somewhere between haughty and desperate, and she let out a small sigh. 

“I’m sorry, Milton,” she said carefully, rubbing the green-splashed cloth over her hand to catch the last of the paint. “I don’t plan on going to the gala with anyone.” Strictly speaking, she wasn’t lying. She and Fitz had already planned to arrive separately, to keep their collaboration a surprise for as long as possible. Besides, as he had just told the girl in the flower dress, he would be working his shift for the resort.

“But you have to go with _someone_ ,” Milton countered, and she bit back a sharp retort. 

“I don’t, actually.” She gave him an awkward smile and stepped around him, intending to go to the restroom to wash her hand off more completely. 

“They’ll all think you’re weirder than they already do.” 

Jemma halted mid-step and turned slowly back to Milton, who at least had the sense to look cowed in advance. “Better that,” she retorted, “than think I am so desperate for a date that I would allow myself to be bullied into one.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode to the door that led to the rest of the main building. As much as she had wanted to end the summer on good terms with Milton, who seemed largely harmless, if he was going to insist on that kind of behavior, so be it. Jemma Simmons did not allow herself to be coerced into anything, much less attending a gala with someone in whom she had no interest.

 

\------

 

Although Jemma expected that dinner at the same table as the Huntzbergers would be awkward after having refused Milton’s advances, she was pleasantly surprised to find that neither him nor his father were present for the meal. Mrs. Huntzberger explained that they had some “unfortunate business” they were in the midst of discussing, and would be in attendance as soon as possible. 

Just as the table was digging into their dessert, Nathanson, Mr. Huntzberger, and Milton all strode in through the main entrance and made their way directly to the sound station corner. Seeing their approach, Fitz finished dropping the needle onto a new record and got quickly to his feet. Jemma couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at the odd group, worried by the vindictive glee shining from Nathanson’s face even in the muted lights. She couldn’t hear what they were saying from where she was seated, but she could see incredulity and then anger flash across Fitz’s face, and he began vehemently arguing against whatever Nathanson had said. Mr. Huntzberger joined in, gesturing towards Milton, who seemed to be trying to look humble but instead just looked smug. 

The exchange continued heatedly for another minute before Nathanson grabbed Fitz by the arm and began to walk him through the dining room, followed closely by Mr. Huntzberger and Milton. Stunned, Jemma could only watch in silence as the first pair passed by, increasingly worried by the mingled embarrassment and defiance etched onto Fitz’s face.

“What’s going on?” she blurted as Mr. Huntzberger drew even with her, and the small procession slowed. By now, half of the dining room had realized something was going on, animated talk turning to hushing and intrigued murmurs. 

With a heavy sigh, Mr. Huntzberger reached for one of the cigars in his breast pocket. “Nasty business,” he muttered around the cigar, smoothly clipping off the end and striking a match. “You all know that the Greys’ cabin was broken into three nights ago.” 

“Jennifer’s lovely diamonds,” Jemma’s mother whispered, resting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Terrible.”

“Looks like Milton here’s helped us nab the culprit,” Mr. Huntzberger continued, clapping his son roughly on the shoulder. “He saw this boy with the wallet and jewelry yesterday.” 

“It’s a rotten lie!” Fitz interjected loudly, eyes darting from the others up to Jemma. “I didn’t do anything, it wasn’t me!” 

Something in her chest cracked at the panic hovering beneath his voice, at the way that he seemed almost more concerned about her not believing it than even the men who were about to fire him or have him arrested.

“Three nights ago,” Jemma repeated, a realization dawning on her. “That’s when it happened?”

“Yes – the same night as the barbeque. They came back from a late night stroll around the lake just before midnight to find the door unlocked and their things gone.” Mr. Huntzberger shook his head, and was quickly imitated by Milton, who stuck his hands in his pockets in just the way that his father often stood.

“Shame he turned to a life of crime so young,” Milton drawled.

Fitz lunged at the other boy, only prevented from doing so by Nathanson grabbing tight onto his arms with a speed one wouldn’t have expected.

“It wasn’t Fitz,” Jemma said, voice coming out calmer than she would have expected. She stood, pushing back her chair and curling her shaking hands into fists at her side. “He wouldn’t do something like that, not ever.” 

“We have a witness,” Mr. Huntzberger started, but she interrupted him.

“I was with Fitz all night.” A low gasp went up in the rest of the now-quiet dining hall, and she had to fight the urge to throw up on her white leather heels. “From the second the barbeque was over until past dawn the next day – he couldn’t have stolen anything.” 

All four standing men stared at her in silence, with Mr. Huntzberger looking faintly annoyed, Nathanson looking disappointed, Milton looking nauseous, and Fitz having gone nearly ashen in shock. Jemma couldn’t bear to turn to see the expressions on her parents’ faces.

As Mr. Huntzberger continued to seem unconvinced, staring suspiciously at Jemma, the sound of someone else pushing their chair back and standing echoed from behind her. She twisted around to see her father calmly buttoning up his shirtsleeves, tilting his head as he looked over at his longtime friend. “You heard her, Huntzberger,” he said, eyes glittering darkly in the room’s show lights. “If my daughter says something, then it’s the truth.”

Her stomach curdled as she thought about how her own father was now lying for her. Because although what she had told the others was true, it had also revealed the lie that she had told to her parents: She had not spent the night of the barbeque with a giggling group of teenage girls, but in the arms of a boy. There was no reason for her father to trust what she was saying now – or ever again. 

“What about what the kid saw?” Nathanson broke in, keeping one hand clamped tightly around Fitz’s arm as he gestured to Milton.

“It could just be a mistake,” Jemma said, turning to study Milton’s face where he seemed to have shuffled a little further behind his father. “Milton must be wrong, it could have been any old wallet, or something that just looked like the jewelry box.”

“I guess,” Milton mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Mr. Huntzberger let out a noise of annoyance and waved Nathanson towards the main lobby. “Take him to my office,” he bit out, gesturing to Fitz, and Jemma stepped forward, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. 

“Where are you taking him?”

“To be dealt with in private,” Mr. Huntzberger grumbled, adjusting his suit jacket before striding after Nathanson and Fitz. Milton hovered around the table for a few seconds, waiting long enough for the double doors to the dining hall to slam shut before he muttered an excuse and shot off after them. With a slight intake of breath, Mrs. Huntzberger stood and excused herself, heels clicking on the dance floor as she, too, exited into the main lobby. 

The dining room erupted in a tizzy over the excitement, teenagers hopping up from their family tables to gossip conspiratorially in the aisles. Servers, stymied by the disruption, hovered at the edges of the room, debating whether or not to bring in the next round of after-dinner drinks.

For a few moments, Jemma stood stock still, fingernails biting into her palms. The past few minutes felt like a dim blur. A part of her couldn’t quite believe what she’d just confessed to the entire resort. The other guests’ perceptions of her had just been shattered, and she could hear the incredulity in their whispers. She felt panic begin to claw at her stomach. Who was she if not exactly what everyone expected her to be?

At last, heart hammering in her chest, she turned to face her parents. Her father lowered himself into his seat and reached for his cooling cup of coffee, not meeting her gaze and not saying a word. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, and she looked up at her mother, who was in the midst of pouring herself a cup of tea, normally steady hand shaking ever-so-slightly. Their untouched slices of pineapple upside-down cake glistened.

“May I be excused?” Jemma managed to say quietly, keeping her voice low to attempt to hide the tremor within it.

Returning the kettle to its trivet, her mother wiped her hands on her napkin. “Yes, I think you’d better.” 

Jemma ducked her head, turning in a half-circle away from the table, unsure where to go. Her feet began to move of their own accord, speeding up until she was nearly running in between the other dining tables, shooting out the door just before she let out a stifled sob. The porch door swung shut behind her as she clasped her hands hard around her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to hold off until she wasn’t near the other guests. That thought propelled her into motion again, prompting her to hurry down the stairs and then run off across the grass.

A light summer rain had begun to fall during dinner, making the ground slippery, but she refused to let this impede her progress. Wrapping her arms around her stomach and pulling her cardigan tighter around herself, she realized that she was going towards Fitz’s cabin rather than her own without having consciously decided to do so. As she thought about it, trying to move faster across the wet, uneven ground, she decided it was the right decision anyway. Were she to go to her room, her parents could find her there when they returned from dinner, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of facing them again. The look of pure, hollow disappointment on her father’s face haunted her, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. 

But Fitz... God, she hoped he wouldn’t be upset with her for revealing their relationship. She had done it to save him, but, of course, she couldn’t read his mind. On top of that, she was desperate to know what Mr. Huntzberger had done once they were out of earshot of the rest of the guests. Surely they wouldn’t fire Fitz after her defense of him – would they?


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Jemma arrived at Fitz’s cabin, she was shaking either from adrenaline or the cold, although she couldn’t tell which. At the top of the wooden steps, she halted, realizing that she had no way into the cabin and she had no idea when Fitz would arrive. The idea of waiting outside on his porch – where anyone might find her and where the temperature was rapidly dropping in the evening air – for who knew how long was far from appealing. Suddenly, she remembered that she knew precisely how to get into his cabin without him; he had, after all, shown her exactly what to do.

Removing a bobby pin from where it had been holding stray hairs away from her face, Jemma kneeled in front of the door, giving no thought to the pale green fabric of her dress. The wood was damp, and her fingers slipped as she pulled the pin into a 90-degree angle to make it easier to pick the lock. She took a slow breath and inserted the pin into the keyhole, trying to concentrate on tapping upwards on the correct pins within the lock mechanism. Bizarrely, focusing on a task like this, which required all of her attention but none of her brain power, helped her regain some semblance of emotional equilibrium. When the handle finally turned, Jemma actually grinned down at the door, the small victory having reminded her that even when the world around her might seem dark, there was always hope to be found. Soon, Fitz would come home and she would be able to seek comfort in his arms.

Once through the door, she hovered briefly in the lab, wondering whether or not it would be intrusive for her to wait in his bedroom rather than in their joint workspace. The second she had the thought, however, she dismissed it – Fitz would no more mind her waiting in his bedroom than he would her breaking into his cabin. From where it hung in view of his workstation, the rosy orange of her sunrise painting shone in the one light she left on downstairs as she climbed up.

Still feeling uncomfortably exposed emotionally, once she was on the upper landing she slipped into his bed, tugging up the covers and hugging a pillow to her chest. Perhaps more than anything else in the room, these things smelled like him, and she could almost pretend that they were still warm – as though he had only left to go to the restroom moments ago and would be returning shortly.

The wait itself was arduous, as she hadn’t bothered to bring anything to read upstairs, but at long last she heard footsteps tramping up the stairs to the porch. A few seconds passed after the front door creaked open, the steps having come to a standstill.

“Hello?” came Fitz’s voice from below, low and cautious.

Jemma realized with a start that not only had she turned on the lights, but also had neglected to re-lock the door after herself. “It’s me, Fitz,” she called down to him.

“Oh, _Jemma_ ,” he said, a cross between relieved and incredulous, and she heard the telltale signs of him toeing off his shoes and properly locking the door. 

By the time he made it upstairs, she had uncurled herself from the bed, although her dress was now hopelessly wrinkled. Without waiting to even properly meet his gaze, she flung herself at him, tightening her arms around his shoulders as if the closer they were, the less the outside world mattered. 

“Are you okay?” she asked at the same time that he said, “are you alright?”

They both chuckled, although Jemma’s was a little choked. Her emotions welled to the surface again and she buried her face in his neck. The feeling of Fitz’s chest expanding and contracting as he breathed was infinitely soothing, as was his hand rubbing circles up and down her back. 

“How long’ve you been here?”

She sniffled, trying to focus on the steadiness of his presence. “Since they took you away. I came right here.” Blinking up at him, Jemma swiped away the errant tears that had escaped. “What did they say? Did they believe me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, expression darkening briefly. “Before Huntzberger came into the office, I heard him talking to Milton outside. Twat didn’t even remember what the wallet and jewelry box I supposedly had looked like, bunch of horseshit. So they’re not accusing me or pressing charges or anything.” 

“Thank _God_ ,” Jemma breathed, pressing one hand against his chest in relief. Something dissatisfied lingered around his expression, however, and with a start she realized that he hadn’t answered her first question. “They still fired you,” she whispered, pushing further back so she could better see his face. “Because of me.” 

Fitz nodded, stepping further into the room and rubbing his arm against the back of his neck. “And if I leave quietly, I get my summer bonus.” He let out a sharp noise of disgust, swatting one hand briefly against his dresser. “So I can’t come back next summer, and I _needed_ that to pay for college. Mack might let me work in his garage during the year, if I can get myself all the way to his place, but I’m... I dunno, Jemma. I dunno if I’ll be able to afford an engineering program now.” Turning back to her, he gave her a bitter half-smile. “But that’s better than–”

“So I did it for nothing.” Anger flooded her system, burning through her veins and giving her the strong urge to scream or punch something. She twisted away from him, adrenaline surging through her system as she clenched her fists at her sides. The now-clear futility of everything they had dedicated their summer to felt like it was jeering at her, as was the knowledge that no one outside of this room even cared what happened to either of them. Not that Fitz had been fired, not that she would never be taken seriously, and certainly not that they were about to be separated. “You lost your job anyway, I hurt my family, I did it for nothing!”

“No,” he retorted, staring at her, aghast. “Not for nothing, Jemma! Nobody’s _ever_ done anything like that for me before –”

“You were right, Fitz,” she interrupted, bile rising in her throat. “We can’t win, no matter what we do.”

“Hey,” he said, striding back to her in two quick steps and taking hold of her arms. “You listen to me – I don’t wanna hear that from you. You _can_.”

“I used to think so,” she whispered, voice breaking at the last. For a few seconds, he watched her silently, blue eyes shining with uncertainty. Then he reeled her in, encouraging her to tuck her head beneath his chin and snugging her tightly in against his chest. Jemma sniffled, clinging to him. Her whole mind was a mess of disappointment and embarrassment and a bizarre sense of shame.

“I’ve been worried for ages that I wasn’t gonna be able to break away from what my dad did,” Fitz said quietly, and she sucked in a shuddery breath, forcing herself to listen. “And you know that, you know everything about me, Jemma, and you still....” His voice thickened and he trailed off, giving her a moment in which to tilt her head up and press her face against his neck. She could feel his pulse quickening beneath his skin. “That meant _everything_ to me, Jemma. I – I’m sorry about your parents, I am, and I’ll be here for you for – for anything you need. After this. The consequences, or anything. Anything you want me to do.”

Her panic faded the longer she listened to his voice, and she sighed, pulling back so she could meet his gaze and smoothing one hand up around the back of his neck. “I suppose it’s better that they know – they would have done eventually anyway. I just... wish it hadn’t been that way. Especially in front of everyone. And I had these silly plans about having you over for dinner at home, about showing them....” Jemma shook her head. “Well, we can still do that. And your tuition –” she started, stopping to take both of his hands into hers. “ _I_ will work here next summer if I have to. Or I’ll ask my parents for a loan. You’re going to be an engineer, Fitz, no matter what. You deserve it.” 

As she spoke, he just watched her, eyes darkening in a way she didn’t quite understand. Fitz cupped her cheek with one hand, starting to speak and stopping twice before he actually managed to get words out. “What did I do to deserve _you_?” he murmured, and she smiled.

“Be the most wonderful, smart, caring person I’ve ever met,” she replied, squeezing the hand that was still tangled with his. “We’re going to figure this out together, I promise.” 

“Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah, I promise, too.” And with that he was kissing her deeply, lips sure and careful, as if he was trying to impress upon her the fervency of his commitment. After a few moments, all too short, he broke away with a sharp inhale. “I wish I could stay to see your presentation.”

Alarm darted through her gut, and she blinked up at him. “What?”

“They want me gone by tomorrow. Soon as possible, some tripe about wanting the other guests to not have to worry about their daughters.” He made a sharp noise of annoyance. “Which is a load of crap. I don’t give two bloody shakes about any of their daughters.”

“But you should be there for our project,” she argued, brain automatically substituting the most logical reason for him to stay other than the one that she felt the strongest: that she desperately didn’t want to have to say goodbye. “I need you –”

“Nah, you don’t.” He gave her a grin that, although earnest, also seemed a little sad. “I mean, you better give me credit for my work –”

“Obviously –”

“But this has been yours from the beginning, y’know. Your brainchild. If there’s anyone who can impress Howard Stark, it’s you.” 

Another smile broke across her face, and she sighed again, fighting the urge to continue arguing with him. In truth, she knew he was almost certainly right – there was no way for them to both be on that stage together, not anymore. Not after tonight.

“If _we_ win,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “we’ll still share the prize. I don’t know how I’ll get it to you, but I’ll find a way. Or I’ll just keep it ‘til the holidays and give it to you then.”

“Deal,” he replied, and tugged her back in for a hug. A few, long moments passed with them just holding each other, processing the evening in their own, quiet way.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Jemma asked in a small voice, letting him rearrange them so that he could give her a look of distinct surprise.

“Really? I mean, of _course_ you can, always, but –”

“I can’t face them yet,” she whispered at last, hurrying to assuage the hurt that had flashed across his face. “Not because of you, or even what we – what we did. But I’ve never lied to my parents before. My dad was always... he liked saying that one lie was a gateway drug. And I can’t bear to...” she trailed off, stomach curdling at the mere thought of seeing her father so soon. “I just can’t see him yet.”

“Okay. Yeah, course you can stay here. I’d actually – I mean, I like it when you’re here.” Fitz gave her a bashful smile, brushing his knuckles beneath her chin. “Something to wake up to.”

Jemma matched his smile with a wide one of her own, and stretched up to fit their mouths together again, allowing herself to relax into the comfort he provided simply by being there. “Bed?” she murmured against his lips, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Really?!” he said hoarsely. “You – oh, you meant, actual – yeah, no, yes, sorry, it’s early, so I –”

“No, Fitz. I meant _bed_.” She pressed her hand over his heart and watched him swallow thickly.

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. When we’ll have the chance to....” Trailing off, she ducked her head slightly, fumbling for the words that mattered. 

Without waiting for her to finish, he bent his head to capture her lips again, and she hummed against him, curving her arms over his shoulders. As Jemma lost herself in Fitz, in his reverent touch, his roughened voice, his quick-beating heart, she decided that maybe words were not the only way to share one’s self with another. Perhaps allowing one’s body to say what one didn’t have the words for was, sometimes, even better.

 

\------

 

Just after dawn, Jemma made Fitz promise to come find her before he left, and then walked away from his cabin, on her own again in the post-dawn haze. They agreed that being seen together at this early hour would only add flame to the fire.

As she strode through the dew-strewn grass, she hugged her wrinkled cardigan to her chest, already missing the old tee he’d leant her for sleeping. It had been soft cotton, with the design of a monkey’s silhouette nearly worn off, and waking up in it had felt like Fitz was hugging her. Which could also have been attributed to the fact that he’d had his arms around her, too, but she had still loved the shirt. He had been quiet as she’d gotten back into her dress from the night before, nearly somber, and she wished she’d had something to say to make him feel better. Of course, she felt sad and out-of-sorts herself, so no words of comfort had been forthcoming.

Approaching her family’s cabin from across the grass, she could see a thin plume of smoke wafting from the porch up into the azure-orange sky, and fear jolted through her. The idea of facing her father like this, wearing her previous night’s dress and smelling of a boy’s bed, almost made her turn around and run. But curiosity about him being awake at such an hour drew her forward, and so when she caught a glimpse of the person on the porch, her mouth actually dropped open in surprise. Her mother’s slim figure reclined in one of the whitewashed wooden chairs, the end of the slight cigarette glowing against the dim morning haze. The robe she had pulled over her nightgown somehow gave her the air of being just seconds away from making a fashion statement, of being as preternaturally composed as Jemma wished herself to one day be.

Catching a glimpse of her daughter, Jemma’s mother let out a slight, relieved sigh. “Jemma,” she murmured, standing as she flicked ash onto a nearby tray. “You’ve come back.”

“Yes.” Jemma hovered at the bottom of the stairs, wary of the way her mother moved closer in to lean against one of the porch’s posts. “Mum, you don’t smoke.” It was a bizarre statement, she knew, especially considering the awkwardness of their current situation. But it was the only thing she could think about, eyes fixed on the pale stick held between her mother’s forefingers.

“Well,” her mother said, putting the cigarette to her lips, “I thought my seventeen-year-old daughter might have just run away with a serving boy, never to be seen again. I needed something more than a good night’s sleep to face the day. Better a cigarette than whisky.”

“He’s not a serving boy,” Jemma snapped, stalking up the steps.

Her mother raised a quick hand, letting the smoke out of her mouth in one huff. “You’re right, I’m sorry, darling.” Jemma blinked, lips parting slightly in surprise. “America is an ideal place to rise above one’s station at birth, we read about it all the time in Washington. You’ve said he’s quite bright –”

“Brilliant,” she couldn’t help interjecting.

“So perhaps he will make something of himself one day. More than this... rural banality.” Flicking the end of the cigarette with her thumb, Jemma’s mother sighed and gazed out at the grounds beyond their cabin. “I don’t actually care for the taste of cigarettes, you know. But I find the movement restful. The ritual of it.” Mouth thinning, she looked back at her daughter. “Those joined in the service of Her Majesty are not known for bucking tradition, darling, so you would do well to keep that in mind. I am choosing to believe that this is not you rebelling against us at last, but something more than that. For both of you. And if that’s so, you might find the path forward more difficult than it seems here, when colored by a summer vacation.”

Unsure of how to respond to all that, Jemma swallowed. “Yes, Mum.” 

Her mother let out a small chuckle, and turned to stub out the cigarette on the nearby banister. “Well, that’s more familiar.” 

“Does Dad...” Jemma stammered, dropping her gaze and twisting the sleeve of her cardigan between her fingers. “I mean, did he... is he....” 

“He’ll recover,” her mother answered, and moved in the direction of the master cabin. “At the moment, he doesn’t have much to say. You know how he feels about lying.” Nodding, Jemma turned towards her door to hide that she had to blink away tears. “I thought it might happen sooner rather than later. You lying to us. No one is perfect.”

Even if the words were cynical, the tone was gentle – the same one her mother had used when Jemma was once told she couldn’t take an extra science elective because it wasn’t adapted for girls. She inhaled deeply, and glanced back around at her mother. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“That Huntzberger boy....” Her mother chuckled quietly. “I will admit, I’m rather relieved you weren’t interested in him. It took me a week to remember his name.” A bright smile spread across Jemma’s face, and she bit back a laugh. “Your Fitz seems much... less forgettable.”

Ducking her head, she took the few steps over to her door and turned the key in the lock. “No – no, he certainly isn’t that.”

“Do you love him?”

One hand on the doorknob, Jemma inhaled and closed her eyes. It was the one question she hadn’t let herself answer even in her own thoughts yet, that she was afraid to face head-on. Then again, she had felt it the night before, when she’d chosen to make her confession in the dining room and damned the consequences. She had known then that she would have done far worse to save Fitz, had he needed it. Even now, that distinct feeling spread through her chest like curling flames, bright and unpredictable and all-consuming. Love, with all its unpredictable variables and messy repercussions, was exactly what Jemma felt for her best friend, the grumpy would-be engineer with curly hair and bright blue eyes. And it was about time she stopped being afraid of that fact.

“Yeah,” she answered quietly, and then slipped into her bedroom, shutting the door with a click.

 

\------

 

The dining hall was nearly empty at the end of lunchtime, and without Fitz’s music to fill the air, all sound in the room carried clearly through the rafters and to every person left. This was probably not what Mr. Huntzberger had intended when he had cornered Jemma before she had managed to escape the meal, Nathanson flanking him with his clipboard in hand.

“I don’t want you to get worked up –”

“Worked up?!” Jemma exclaimed, looking from one man to the other and back again. “I’ve spent the entire summer working on this project –”

“And I appreciate your hard work,” Mr. Huntzberger steamrolled over her, speaking loudly enough to drown her out. “But it wouldn’t be healthy for you to exert yourself after having such a, ah, trying day yesterday.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she tried to focus on the low buzzing that had begun to rise in her ears. “What happened yesterday has nothing to do with how well-prepared I am to present my work to Howard Stark! And I’m extremely –”

“What’s going on here?”

Jemma froze at the sound of her father’s voice. Not quite able to stomach facing him yet, she had arrived at breakfast just as her parents were leaving, and both of her parents had elected to eat outside rather than stay indoors for lunch. In fact, the reason she had bothered to stay inside was to prove to the rest of the resort that she was not ashamed of what she had revealed yesterday. That, and because she had been curious as to who would take over Fitz’s job with him leaving. The answer to that was no one, apparently, with his equipment sitting unused and silent in the corner of the room. Something in her chest had twisted at the sight, but she had chosen to eat at her normal table in her normal seat just the same. Now, she was summarily regretting the decision.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Mr. Huntzberger said, tucking his thumbs into his suspenders in what he clearly thought was an endearing gesture. “Just telling little Jemma here that there’s been a small change in plans for tonight’s gala.” 

“They won’t let me present my project,” Jemma broke in, turning so that she could meet her father’s gaze head-on as he stepped alongside her. His eyes, a familiar, warm mahogany that her mother had more than once likened to her own, skipped right over her to land on Mr. Huntzberger. She sucked in a breath at the sting of him not being able to meet her gaze, and forced herself to continue speaking. Fortunately, the tremor to her words could just as easily have been from anger rather than upset. “They think because of yesterday I’m too _frail_ to –”

“That’s just not true.” Mr. Huntzberger shook his head and gave his father a look that seemed to imply some sort of commiseration between them. “Did I ever once use the word frail? No! I just have Jemma’s best interests at heart. We all know that women aren’t built for this sort of emotional distress –” 

“My only _emotional distress_ is because you won’t let me present the work I’ve spent all bloody summer preparing!” Silence stretched between the four of them, with Jemma breathing heavily in between.

Slowly, her father slid his hands into his pockets, rocking briefly back on his heels. “You heard her, Huntzberger. She feels fine. Good enough reason to let her go on.” 

Appearing taken aback, Mr. Huntzberger shook his head and let out a dismissive noise as he reached for the cigar in his pocket. “It’s already done, George, we’ve arranged for a third presenter. She can try again next year.”

When Mr. Huntzberger made to move around her father, however, he stepped pointedly to the side, blocking the other man’s exit. For a second, Jemma had the wild thought that her father was about to punch his old friend square in the jaw. On the other side of the now two-man stand off, she caught a glimpse of Elena navigating speedily around nearby tables, making her way towards them as if she could stop whatever was about to happen.

“I don’t think we’ll be coming back next year,” Jemma’s father said smoothly, eyes never leaving Mr. Huntzberger’s face. “Bit _muggy_ here for us. Our friends in Washington would, I’m sure, agree.” 

The hairs in Mr. Huntzberger’s mousey-brown moustache quivered as his lips thinned. Rather than respond, he merely strode purposefully around Jemma’s father and headed towards the door, with Nathanson scurrying after.

“Jemma,” came Elena’s voice, although Jemma didn’t immediately look at her, instead watching her father. He stared hard at Mr. Huntzberger’s retreating back for a few moments, squared his shoulders, and turned to stride towards the main lobby without saying a word to his daughter.

A tap landed on Jemma’s arm, and she jumped, glancing around at Elena. At the side of the room, the porch door made a loud bang behind Nathanson as he slammed it, a few seconds too late to have any social effect. 

“You need to come with me.”

“What? I mean – now?” Jemma said, peering around the older woman’s shoulder at her father’s retreating back. A part of her wondered if now would be a good time to talk to him, to open by thanking him for defending her, to tell him that she had never meant to hurt anyone with her lies. That she had only wanted to... to... spend a whole night with her secret boyfriend. She sighed. 

“Yes, now,” Elena replied firmly, reaching over to steer Jemma by the elbow towards one of the back doors. “Fitz is about to leave.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE thank you to marvelthismarvelthat on tumblr for helping me with Elena's Spanish again in this chapter! I'm so grateful for her help!

Jemma could feel Elena’s eyes on her as they hurried to the garage, where Fitz was packing up a car Mack was lending him.

“I’m sorry,” Elena said at last, matching Jemma’s pace as they rounded a cabin’s corner. “I heard about what happened last night. Why Fitz is leaving.”

“Being forced to leave,” Jemma retorted automatically, and then felt her cheeks flush. “I, well – I’m sorry, too.”

“It was a brave thing you did.” 

Blinking in surprise, Jemma glanced up at the older woman. “I just told the truth. It isn’t that brave.”

Elena hummed, glancing sideways at her in a way that seemed approving. “The truth scares a lot of people. It seems brave to me, in your own way.” 

“Oh.” They continued walking in silence for a few moments, with Jemma unsure of how to react to praise that she hadn’t expected. “Thank you.”

Although surprised, she was grateful that the other woman had not said ‘ _I told you so._ ’ Because in the end, Elena had been right: People had only ended up hurt thanks to Jemma and Fitz’s relationship, no matter the truth of their feelings.

“It’s too bad, because they found the stolen things this morning, but –” 

“What?!” Jemma stopped moving, only continuing when Elena urged her to keep going. “Do they know who did it?”

“I forget her name, but apparently one of the guests in the deluxe cabin suites has, what’s it called....” She trailed off, frowning, and tapped her two forefingers against her thumb. “ _Dedos pegajosos_.”

Jemma stared at her for a few moments before understanding lit her features. “Oh, sticky fingers?”

“Ai, yes, sticky fingers.” Elena snapped hers as she spoke, as if the phrase had been on the tip of her tongue. “She is about your age, I think.” 

“So what are they going to do with her? Are they going to arrest her?”

Elena let out a dry laugh, slowing to let Jemma precede her around the corner to the front of the garage. “Her father could buy half of this resort if he wanted to. Nothing’s going to happen to her.”

As Jemma stared back at her, mouth having dropped open in disgust, a different voice calling her name caught her attention. She turned to find Fitz standing next to the same slightly rusty black car that he’d used to take them on their picnic those many weeks ago. Boxes occupied every seat other than that of the driver, presumably packed with his supplies from the lab. In the midst of straightening from doing something in the backseat, he waved to her, and suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. Not waiting to say anything else, Jemma broke into a sprint and threw herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly he let out a small puff of air.

“I don’t want you to go,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and he sighed, nuzzling into her hair.

“Wish I didn’t have to leave.” His arms curled around her waist, hugging her tightly against himself, and she closed her eyes to better soak in his warmth. “I left Bambino and some supplies in your room. You’re gonna do great tonight. I can _not_ wait to hear about it.” 

“Oh,” she breathed, pulling away so she could look at him. “I won’t be... they won’t let me present. They’ve kicked me out of the competition. Mr. Huntzberger just told me, that’s where I was.”

“What the _hell_?!” Fitz’s expression of pure horror and anger made her feel more than a little vindicated, and she slid her hands into his.

“It’s ridiculous,” she said, anger making her voice tremble slightly. “He said he doesn’t want to cause me ‘undue stress’ after last night or some such nonsense. It’s just because I’m a girl.” 

Fitz’s eyes narrowed and he jerked forward, dropping her hands, making as if to stomp back towards wherever he thought Mr. Huntzberger might be. Surprised, Jemma let him get a few steps away before she was able to grab onto his arms and forcibly stop him from moving by pushing against him with her whole body. After a few seconds, Fitz relented, letting out an acute noise of frustration.

“Oh _really_ ,” she exclaimed, pushing one hand against his chest. “What were you going to do?”

He let out another low, angry sound and carded one hand through his curls. “I dunno. Punch the bastard in the face. You’ve spent months working on this, Jemma, _months_ , and you’re ten times as smart as anyone else here! You deserve to go up there.”

Trying to deflect his temper, she gave him a half-smile. “So are you saying I’m twice as smart as you, too?”

With a brief wrinkle of his nose, Fitz looked back down at her. “Maybe. On my bad days.”

She made a little tsk and shuffled closer in, encouraging him to rest his hands on her waist. “You don’t have bad days.”

His expression morphed into one of fondness (with a hint of shame), and he sighed, studying her face as he tucked loose hair behind her ear. Then he was kissing her, lips sure and nearly desperate against hers, and for half a second Jemma froze, knowing that there were far too many pairs of eyes upon them here. But she remembered that the worst had already happened, that they had told the truth and had everything – including each other – taken away from them, and so she kissed him ardently back. Her pulse quickened as tears sprung up beneath her eyelids, the finiteness of their moments together only highlighted by the public nature of their display, and she had to pull back, pressing their foreheads together.

“I thought we had more time,” she murmured, voice uneven and trembling fingers tracing the contours of his face.

“We will,” he said fiercely, Scottish accent thickening as he clearly tried to rein in his own emotions. “Just one year, and then we can be together all the time.” 

“Then why does this feel like goodbye?” Jemma met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with more despair than she wanted, and she sucked in a shaky breath.

To her surprise, his expression only became more determined, and he reached up so he was gently holding her face with both hands. “We won’t let it be,” he replied quietly. “We just have to promise that we won’t.”

“I promise,” she said right away, nudging her nose against his. “I promise this isn’t goodbye. I’m going to come see you any time I can, and we’ll talk on the phone all the time, and we’ll find a way to spend at least part of the holidays together. I – never want to be without you.” For a few seconds, she closed her eyes, chastising herself for chickening out on saying the three little words she’d been tossing around in her head all day.

“I love you.”

Jemma froze, blinking her eyes slowly open to meet Fitz’s gaze, which held a mix of openness and nerves that made something in her chest clench. “Oh, _Fitz_ –” 

“Sorry,” he muttered, tightening one arm around her waist. 

“Why,” she breathed, smoothing her thumb against his cheekbone, “would you _ever_ apologize for saying something so – _so_ magnificent?” A smile broke across her face, and she let out a small laugh, feeling sort of like she was about to float off the ground. “Oh God, I love you, too. I really do.” 

When Fitz smiled at her then, his whole face lit up, as if he wasn’t used to being so unreservedly happy. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking his face in against her neck, and she squeezed him right back. Glancing over his shoulder, Jemma caught a glimpse of a couple passersby giving them a strange look, and she set her mouth into a determined line. 

“I won’t ever be sorry,” she said quietly, pulling back to look at Fitz again. “For any of it.”

He gave her a quick nod, bundling her hands in his and then pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Neither will I.”

Jemma kept Fitz company as he finished shoving the last of his belongings into the car. At one point, a neatly rolled poster tumbled out and past Fitz’s grabbing hands, prompting him to swear as she reached to pick it up. The flash of pinks and oranges she saw before handing it back caught her eye, and she peeked inside. 

“Is that my painting?” she asked, and Fitz swallowed as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, dropping his hand from where he’d reached for it. “I mean, unless you wanted it back...? I guess I should’ve asked, I didn’t think....”

“No,” she said quickly, putting the cylinder in his hand and curling his fingers around it. “No, I made it for you. I’m, um, just happy you want to keep it.” She gave her head a quick shake, unsure of why the sight of it in his belongings had surprised her as much as it made her happy. It certainly wasn’t the world’s most skillful watercolor, and she hadn’t really known whether or not Fitz was one for keepsakes.

“Course I do.” He looked almost affronted, glancing around to make sure that no one was within hearing distance before he spoke again. “It, uh, reminds me of the morning you stayed over. And we... I mean, I know you painted it weeks ago, but it looks just like it did outside the window. I think it does, anyway.” 

Jemma smiled, nibbling briefly at her lower lip before plucking the pencil out of his greenish-blue shirt's pocket. “I don’t think I ever signed it,” she said quietly, taking the rolled paper back and turning it until she found a corner. Onto the unmarked back of the painting, she wrote: _To Fitz. Love, Jemma_. “There. All yours, officially.”

Fitz stared briefly at the inscription when she returned it to him, one finger hovering over the words as if tempted to trace them. “Thanks,” he said at last, turning to place it gently back into the box from which it had fallen. 

They arranged for her to call him tomorrow, and whenever she could borrow a phone line in the resort’s main building. Everything for them to keep in touch was about as settled as it could be, so she didn’t truly understand the hollow feeling in her chest as she watched the car’s black and chrome bumper fade into the horizon. Her fingers worried at the hem of her waist-tied shirt, and she bit onto her tongue to stop any tears from flowing. Perhaps this was what it felt like to miss someone. 

From where they stood a few feet behind her, Jemma could just barely hear Elena and Mack whispering to each other.

“ _Son una pareja tan dulce_.”

Mack let out a low snort. “Yeah, sure, but troublemakers.” 

“ _Oye, no seas tán gruñón_. They’re in love.”

“I hope so,” he muttered just as Jemma turned around, swiping tears off her cheeks.

Without hesitation or prompting, Elena hurried over and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, keeping it there as they walked together back towards the main resort. She neither asked questions nor tried to offer unnecessary words of wisdom, and for both of these things, Jemma was extremely grateful.

 

\------

 

Unsurprisingly, the gala was insufferable.

In order to provide the guests with a bigger dance and performance space that stretched beyond the confines of the stage, the dinner tables were arranged tightly together around the edges of the room. Upon entering the dining hall for the gala, the Simmonses had found themselves assigned to a new, smaller table quite different from the one they had been used to sharing with the Huntzbergers. They were relegated to a cramped, three-person table in the back corner of the hall, far from a place of pride in the resort’s social hierarchy. Jemma could tell her mother in particular was miffed, prevented from socializing with the other women with whom she had become friendly during the summer months. Her father showed no outward recognition of their placement snub, only ordering a stiff drink and then proceeding to watch the performances in silence.

At a table near the dance floor sat the one and only Howard Stark, attended to by at least one Huntzberger at all times, as well as the cadre of friends and suited bodyguards or attendants with whom he surrounded himself. One thing that provided Jemma with a bitter sense of amusement as the night wore on was the way Stark continued his carousing irrespective of the cringe-inducing performances taking place on stage.

Watching the tech icon wave an empty bottle of scotch to catch the attention of a staff member – who Jemma thought she recognized as Fitz’s friend, Davis – she let out a small sigh. “It’s such a shame Fitz isn’t here to meet Howard Stark. He idolizes him.” Her mother glanced at her with a flash of surprise; although she had been trying to keep up the conversation as they had eaten, neither her daughter nor husband had said much during the meal.

Her father let out a low scoff, leaning back in his chair as he watched people begin to set up the stage for the science presentations. “Yes, well, I’m not sure any young man who seduces young girls for profit deser–”

“Excuse me!” Jemma exclaimed, prompting her father to look straight at her for the first time in hours. “Fitz didn’t _seduce_ anyone! I made the choice to be with him just as much as he chose to be with me. And he was _fired_ because of it. Because of me. But that shouldn’t have anything to do with him getting to meet one of his heroes. And it doesn’t change how we feel about each other.”

“I’m sure you think that –” her father began to say, but she cut him off again.

“No, I _know_ that,” she said, pushing up and out of her chair. “Because Fitz doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. I know you don’t trust me anymore, Dad, but my relationship with Fitz isn’t just going to go away.”

Her father sighed and took a sip of his scotch. “You’re very young, Jemma.” 

Red flashed before her eyes and she wanted to shake him. Or her mother, who was sitting and watching on silently. Or anyone in the bloody room who looked down on her relationship with Fitz – which was, arguably, almost everybody. The sole exception perhaps being Elena, who was standing on the other side of the room by the sound and light station and watching Jemma with worry creasing her brows. Mack and one of his garage employees had taken over Fitz’s duties for the night, although Jemma could tell that he wasn’t happy about the arrangement. As such, Elena had been keeping him company. When Jemma accidentally made eye contact with her, the older woman gave her head a subtle shake. The bubble of Jemma’s anger burst inside her chest, deflating as she realized how her behavior would look to everyone else in the room – including Howard Stark. Now was not the time for her to attempt to teach her parents a lesson, even if in that moment she rather felt that they might deserve it. 

On stage, Nathanson fumbled with the microphone as he prepared to announce the science presentations, and Jemma let out a noise of frustration as she plopped herself back in her seat. Once the sham of a science competition was over, she would leave the gala before she could get any angrier with her father.

Just as Nathanson opened his mouth, a loud buzz rang through the room and all the sound and lights cut out at once. At the control station, Mack and his co-worker began trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and Jemma could just barely make out Nathanson stomping off the stage, followed quickly by a muffled screech as he tripped over something and fell. 

A secondary set of lights flickered on, with guests throughout the room blinking and looking bemusedly around. Stark appeared unconcerned, having been mid-pour before the technical complication and still being mid-pour when the lights returned.

To Jemma’s shock, when one of the doors to the main lobby crashed open, in strode Fitz. The noise drew the attention of the rest of the guests one by one, with him determinedly ignoring them all and instead focusing on Jemma. All she could do was stare open-mouthed at him as he marched right up to her and stretched one hand out.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Nobody puts Simmons in a corner.” Then he was drawing her forward through the crowd of shocked guests, her pink skirt swishing around chairs and his hand wrapped firmly around hers. 

“Fitz,” she hissed as they reached the short set of stairs to the main stage, “what are you doing?” 

“What’s right,” he said shortly, tugging her up after himself and reaching behind the curtain to grab a cardboard box. Poking its head out of the box was the robotic dog he and Jemma had spent months perfecting, and as she looked at the sea of faces staring back at her, a bolt of nerves struck through her stomach.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Fitz said loudly, half-shouting so that he could be heard at the back of the room. “But it wouldn’t be right for this contest to go on without Jemma Simmons. She spent nearly three months working to be here, more than probably anyone else who entered. More than me, and I wasn’t even supposed to be up here at all.” He paused to duck down and remove the dog from the box, hefting it into his arms. “This is her project. I worked on the robotics and stuff, but she came up with the idea and figured out how to make it happen. She did things with olfactory tracking that I didn’t even know was possible. And the people who’re running this contest want to keep her out of it because she’s a girl, and because she and I....” Trailing off, Fitz glanced at her, and Jemma sucked in a trembling breath. “Because she decided to give me a chance. And Mr. Stark, you need to see her work. Her being a girl shouldn’t matter. It should just be about what she can do.”

With that, he pushed Bambino into her arms and stalked off the stage, leaving Jemma to stare out at the audience with wide eyes. At the front of the crowd sat Stark, dark mustache quivering with amusement as he leaned back in his chair. 

A loud hum burst through the room, and all of the stage lights came on again, followed swiftly by Fitz returning from wherever he’d disappeared to with a standing microphone that buzzed as he put it down in front of her. While he went about adjusting it to her height, Jemma gripped the metal legs of the dog even harder, deeply touched by Fitz’s words as much as his gesture. Even though she knew it all to be true even without him saying it, having someone reinforce that her gender shouldn’t matter on a public stage meant the world to her.

“Fitz,” she whispered, ducking to avoid the microphone and catching his attention. He met her gaze, eyes a light, striking blue in the spotlight, and she reached over to brush her fingers against his arm. “Thank you.” 

Giving her a crooked smile, he nodded and turned back towards the stage’s wings.

“Hey now,” called out Stark, and Fitz froze halfway behind a garish red curtain. “I like your guts, kid, but if you worked on half this project, you’ve gotta do your part, too. Can’t just pawn it off on your partner.”

“No, that’s not -” Fitz started, but Jemma stepped forward, interrupting him. If he had stuck his neck out to defend her, she could do the same for him.

“He wasn’t allowed to participate under the resort’s rules,” she said, gesturing that Fitz should come back from hovering between the stage and the wings. “They say it’s because he’s staff, but it’s just because they don’t like where he comes from. And that shouldn’t matter either.”

Crossing his arms, Stark looked from one to the other of them as he took a long inhale from his cigar. “What d’your parents do, kid?”

Fitz took in a shallow breath. “My mum’s a teacher. My dad’s in jail.” A low gasp swept through the audience.

The tech magnate raised an eyebrow. “Tough combo. Teacher’s good. My mom sewed shirtwaists in a factory. You’ve got me beat for a dad, though – mine just sold fruit on the lower East Side. Can’t tell who someone’s gonna be just ‘cause of where they grew up. Otherwise I’d be makin’ peach-patterned shirts by now, or something.” He grinned winningly as the friends at his table laughed at his joke. After he took another puff on his cigar, he turned his gaze back to Jemma. “You coulda just worked on your own, right? So why’d you bother breaking the rules to bring the kid in on the project with you?”

Jemma squared her shoulders. “Because he’s clearly the smartest person here. And together, we’re twice as smart.”

Stark nodded, tipping ash into a nearby marble dish. “Good answer. But, let’s be clear about one thing – I’m _definitely_ the smartest person here.” Jemma couldn’t help but laugh at that, accompanied by half the people in the room. Behind Stark in the dim dining space, she could just barely make out Nathanson scurrying up to a displeased-looking Mr. Huntzberger. “Alright, get on with it. Let’s see what your little dog can do. And someone bring me a second piece of pie.”

For half a second, Jemma and Fitz stared at each other, stymied by the fact that they were about to get exactly what they’d both wanted – even if it was by unconventional means. Then, after taking a small breath, she launched into the presentation the two of them had been practicing for the previous week, explaining the concept as Fitz set up the round of tests they would run through on the stage. He took over once she was finished, going over his newly re-done blueprints and their methodology. As they put the Golden Retriever through its paces, Jemma had to resist the urge to jump up and down and clap when it sussed out the correct material time and again.

When the robot dog clanked up to the front of the stage with a set of keys in its mouth, the rest of the room was so silent Jemma could hear herself breathing. At his table, Stark let out a small noise around the end of his cigar and then began to clap loudly, starting a wave of applause that swept through the audience. It was, perhaps, not quite as enthusiastic as the clapping had been for some of the more popular guests’ earlier performances, but it was more than enough to make Jemma feel like she was so happy she might just burst with it. In a flash of euphoria and defiance, she reached out to take Fitz’s hand and then bend forward in a bow. A few titters erupted in the crowd, but Jemma just ignored them, smiling one more time at Stark and then quickly helping Fitz to clean up their work.

Once they were offstage, she flung her arms around Fitz’s neck, causing him to stumble back against the box he’d just put down. “We did it, Fitz,” she breathed against his ear, letting out a disbelieving little laugh.

“Together,” he agreed, giving her a tight hug back.

In a whirl of sweat and papers, Nathanson scurried from behind them in the wings out onto the stage, knocking them to the side as he went. They both turned to watch him bend over the microphone Fitz had adjusted for Jemma’s height to say that they were pausing the science competition to allow their contestants time for... something. He faded into high-pitched mumbling at that part, clearly flustered by either the impromptu presentation or by whatever Mr. Huntzberger had been hissing at him in the crowd. Jemma did manage to catch that he was encouraging everyone to “boogie down on the dance floor,” which prompted her to burst out in giggles that she stifled in Fitz’s shoulder.

“If you try to get me to ‘boogie down,’” he muttered into her ear, causing her shoulders to shake with muted laughter, “I will walk straight through that door.”

“Oh, don’t be such a negative Nancy,” she teased, separating from him and rolling her eyes at the smirk on his face. “Come on, then.” Entwining their fingers, she led them both out from the wings, intending to find someplace private for them to talk. There were so many things she wanted to say to Fitz, more than she could wrap her head around under the din of a new record playing through the speakers and dancers laughing as they came together on the polished wooden floor.

Before Jemma had pulled her boyfriend more than a few feet further, however, a middle-aged man in a sharp black suit stopped her. Sunglasses were tucked into his breast pocket, his hair was thinning slightly, and he had distinctly kind eyes. “Miss Simmons,” he said, and she realized she recognized him from Stark’s security detail. “Mr. Stark would like to speak to you. Both of you.”

Glancing back at Fitz, she nodded, and they both trailed after the unassuming bodyguard to Stark’s table. Most of his entourage had disappeared into the throng of dancers, leaving him to finish off the last of his second dessert as he apparently awaited their arrival. As they approached, Fitz’s hand tightened in Jemma’s, and she squeezed back. They were about to talk to one of the smartest men in the world, a millionaire as well as one of Fitz’s heroes – they both needed a little bit of unspoken support.

“Boy, do I love pie,” Stark said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Nothing says summertime like blueberry pie.” Leaning back in his chair, he waved one finger between the two teenagers. “Quite a double act you’ve got there, Simmons and Fitz. I haven’t seen the other entries yet, but it’s still a real bum deal that you can’t win this thing.”

“What?” Jemma gasped, dropping Fitz’s hand in shock. “After all that –” 

“You said it yourselves,” Stark interrupted her. “He’s not allowed to enter, and you disqualified yourself by working with him all summer. I hold the purse strings, but Stark Industries does have appearances to keep up. My hands are tied.” 

“Then why’d you even let us present?” Fitz’s voice was low, and Jemma could hear the disappointment simmering beneath his words. 

Stark shrugged and opened his hands wide. “‘Cause I was curious. And I’m glad I did, that is one _hell_ of a dog you two’ve got there. You better patent that thing before I do it first.” When they just stared back at him, he cocked his head to one side. “You’ve never patented anything before, have you?” When they both shook their heads, he snapped his fingers to catch his security team’s attention. “Coulson, have Jarvis send them instructions on patent registration.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” replied the suited man who had redirected them towards this table.

“And it needs a new coat of paint.” Tracing the shape of a dog in the air before him, he gave them a pointed look. “A Golden Retriever that isn’t painted gold? Gotta put a lil pizzazz in your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Jemma said, withholding a laugh at the sight of Fitz clearly resisting the urge to argue. 

“Great. Now, where was I? Oh!” He smacked one hand on the table and began to fish around in an inside pocket of his dinner jacket. “So, this contest is a bust, but if you apply for the company’s college fellowship program in a year or two, I think you’d have a pretty good shot, both of you. Recommendation from the CEO himself goes pretty far.” Stark gave them a theatrical wink, and handed them each a business card. Jemma turned the small rectangle over in her hands, wondering if it was the dim lighting creating the illusion of holographic writing on the back. “If I don’t remember your names when you apply, just ask for Coulson. He’ll remember, if he doesn’t try to steal you away for the SSR.” 

“The SSR?” Jemma repeated, looking between the two older men. 

Coulson gave her a mild smile. “That’s classified.”

Frowning, Jemma made a mental note to see if she could use her father’s connections in Washington to get a description of this so-called “SSR.” Before she could ask anything further of Stark or Coulson, however, the former tucked his silver business card holder back into his jacket pocket and gave them a brief wave.

“Alright, now go dance or something, like normal teenagers. Don’t even wanna know how much time you spent working on this thing during your summer vacation, it’s something I would do. But everyone likes to dance. Even Coulson here does, dontcha?” Letting out a jovial laugh, Stark thwapped the other man on the arm. Although Jemma had the sudden impression that it might not be wise for Stark to be quite so cavalier with his bodyguard, the other man just glanced over at the enthusiastic crowd of dancers.

“[My wife loves to dance](http://people.com/celebrity/dirty-dancing-star-weds-dances/),” Coulson responded, voice light. “I just try to keep up.” 

“Spoken like a real man,” Stark mumbled around the end of a new cigar, and pushed himself to his feet. 

With that, Jemma knew that they had been dismissed, and she glanced awkwardly at Fitz as they were left by the side of the large dinner table. He tipped his head to the side, indicating the exit to the porch, and she nodded. Fortunately, this time when they wove through the other guests, hardly anyone paid them attention. By now, the others were far too busy dancing or gossiping to notice them at all, and she suspected that Stark’s tacit acceptance of their relationship – whatever he might think it to be – had taken some of the juice out of the rumor mill.

On their way through the outer ring of tables, Jemma made a quick detour over to her family’s dining table, needing someplace to store Stark’s business card, since – unlike Fitz – she didn’t have trouser pockets. She remembered belatedly, however, that the last time she had spoken to her father had been in anger, and her steps slowed as she approached the shadowed table. Both of her parents were drinking after-supper aperitifs and pointedly looking anywhere other than the two of them. Setting her jaw, she strode up to the table and carefully rested the business card on top of the small purse she had left beside her place. Behind her, Fitz slowed his progress, hovering half a table away.

“I’m going outside with Fitz,” Jemma declared rather needlessly, unable to resist the urge to fill the deafening, localized silence. Neither adult responded. Sucking in a small breath, she turned to her boyfriend, reluctantly meeting his apprehensive gaze. 

“That’s quite a talent for robotics you have there,” came Jemma’s father’s voice, and she froze, both her and Fitz looking quickly back at the table.

Still, neither of her parents looked right at them, instead continuing to stare passively out at the spectacle on the dance floor. But as her father took a small sip of his drink, Jemma realized that his words were the best kind of olive branch he could offer them right now. It wasn’t acceptance, not by a mile – but it was a start.

A surprised smile tilted up her lips, and she ducked her head, backing up so she could reach for Fitz’s hand before continuing to the exit. His fingers tightened within hers as she pushed the door open, an unusual mid-August evening breeze buffeting her arms and prompting her to tug down the sleeves of her pink cardigan. 

“Good idea,” Fitz said as the door swung shut, and she turned to him with an arched eyebrow. “Cover up that dress before I get any ideas.” His eyes danced with mirth, and a peal of laughter burst out of her as she realized that this was the same dress she had worn during their night together.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, trying to scold but only laughing again. She let him curve his arms around her waist, sliding one hand up his chest. “One-track mind, like I said.” 

“Who’m I to argue with a nubile young prodigy,” he quipped, and she rolled her eyes. 

Music wafted beneath the door, the familiar four-beat of a waltz, and Jemma looked back at her boyfriend. Reaching one hand up to trail her fingers along his jaw, she studied his face, trying to memorize him as best she could.

“You came back,” she whispered at last, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Why did you come back?”

His brows furrowed, and he pulled back enough for their gazes to properly meet. “‘Cause it was the right thing to do. You didn’t deserve to be pushed aside just ‘cause you’re a girl. It’s stupid.”

As much as Fitz’s answer was unquestionably the correct one, Jemma couldn’t quite help the sliver of disappointment his answer sent through her stomach. She had hoped for a different sort of response, one that was perhaps not quite as feminist-leaning as the one he had given. “Thank you –” 

“And ‘cause I love you.” Her eyes flitted back up to meet his, warmth spreading through her at the matter-of-factness with which he said something that made her so unspeakably happy. “But you knew that already, so....”

“I like hearing it, though,” she whispered, pressing herself even closer against his chest and capturing one of his hands in hers. “And I love you, too. Not for coming back, or – you know. I just do.” 

Fitz let out a small huff of air, either in disbelief or joy, and for a few moments they just stood there, watching each other, not entirely sure where this was going to go but having the sense that they had a long journey in front of them. A journey, Jemma knew, that was going to change their lives.

“One dance?” she asked, slipping her arm around his neck. “No one’s watching this time.”

He let out a low chuckle and solidified his hold on her. “Okay, one dance.”

[They began to move into a halting waltz](https://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/157502710538/eclecticmuses-heres-a-bonus-gift-for), with her having to remind him briefly about the steps she had taught him all those weeks ago in the field. Although their time together this evening was limited and the future was unclear, as Jemma felt Fitz’s arm tighten around her while they danced, she was confident that they would navigate it all side by side. And that knowledge alone made every trial and tribulation of this summer and the coming months or years more than worth it.

 

_**The End** _


	16. Chapter 16

_Epilogue_

\-----

For the first time in her entire life, Jemma Simmons was sick of reading. 

At that moment, she was curled into the doorway of a dormitory that looked almost identical to her own in build, but was vastly messier and stinkier. She wasn’t sure how the boys at Stanford managed to get a hallway to smell like old socks and sweat, but somehow it seemed like it was sewn into the carpets. Hopefully, she thought as she breathed through her mouth, it would not be nearly so bad in Fitz’s room proper, and maybe the end of tryout season would ameliorate the stench. She did not yet know anything about Fitz’s room, other than that she was curled into his doorway, because he had yet to arrive on campus.

His flight had been due to touch down hours ago, and having settled into her own room, Jemma had promptly located the room assigned to him, convinced the resident advisor to allow her into the building, and then made herself at home here to wait for him. But the longer it took him to arrive, the antsier she felt. Due to his summer job at Mack’s garage and the Simmons family summer trip home to Sheffield, Fitz and Jemma hadn’t seen each other in four months, one week, and five days. She had forced herself to lose count of the hours, although it had been more than tempting to track every second they were apart. A year at her international high school in the nation’s capital had been nearly unbearable now that she knew how different learning could be when accompanied by someone whose scientific excitement matched her own.

The hallway was bustling with boys on their way to and from various practices, and a few even seemed to be going to the library, even though classes wouldn’t start for another couple of days. By and large, they left her to her reading, although she had noticed a few confused stares and overheard one lewd whisper.

Near the entrance to the closest staircase, a few hoots and chortles erupted, and Jemma sighed, leaning her head against the door. As fascinating as she found the newly published _The Feynman Lectures on Physics_ , her mind kept wandering to Fitz, no matter how hard she tried to focus. She was so far past being ready to start the rest of their lives together; or at least, their university careers.

The group of boys at the end of the hallway continued to laugh, annoying her as their voices cut through her already flimsy ability to absorb what she was reading.

“... Dude is raring to _go_ –”

“Wasting no time –”

“Seriously, buddy, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but they won’t let you into the girls’ dorms, you’ll have to cruise for chicks on the quad.”

“What?!?! I don’t want to – to do that!” 

At the sound of the last voice, Jemma’s head snapped up: Not only was that a Scottish accent, it was the exact one for which she’d been waiting. Around the legs of a couple more passing boys she finally spotted Fitz, two enormous duffles at his feet and a knapsack flung over his shoulder. His shirt was rumpled, there were dark circles under his eyes from the overnight flight, and he was absolutely the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. 

“I’m just looking for _one_ girl,” he continued as – unbeknownst to him – Jemma scrambled to her feet. “I mean, not just _any_ girl, the only girl. My girl. I mean, not _my_ , but –”

“Fitz!”

At the sound of her voice, he whipped his head around so fast that he nearly overbalanced. Jemma stood in the center of the hallway, her book at her feet and an enormous smile spread wide on her face.

“Jemma?!” he replied breathlessly, letting his knapsack drop unceremoniously behind himself.

Without thinking, she ran forward at full tilt, unable to contain herself any longer. She realized a second too late that she was moving far too fast, but she didn’t have time to stop herself before she had jumped forward to wrap her arms around his neck. To her shock, they did not tumble backwards – instead, Fitz managed to brace himself in time and channeled her excess momentum into wrapping his arms around her waist, hoisting her slightly upwards, and spinning them around in a circle.

They both laughed in a mix of relief and surprise, with Jemma staring excitedly down at Fitz as he grinned back up at her. As he slowed their circling, she bent down to brush their noses together before pressing her smiling lips against his. Fitz let her slide down his chest as they kissed, his arms keeping her held tightly against himself, and whistles erupted in the hallway behind them. Breaking quickly away, Jemma felt her cheeks flush as she caught sight of what was now half a hallway of college boys witnessing what she would much rather have been a private reunion.

“See,” said Fitz, glaring at the older boys to whom he’d been speaking and then pointing at Jemma’s head. “The girl. And she found me all on her own anyway.”

“Just don’t forget to put a sock on the door,” someone yelled out. With that, the crowd finally began to disperse amongst snickers and the occasional whoop.

“What?” Fitz muttered, frowning and staring confusedly over Jemma’s shoulder, and she chuckled.

“I’ll explain it later,” she replied and then pulled back enough that she could see him properly. “I can’t believe we didn’t fall over.” 

To her amusement, Fitz puffed out his chest slightly as he grabbed up his duffel bags and let her take his knapsack. “I’ve been doing push-ups. I’m up to double-digits, now.” 

“Oh, really?” she responded, suppressing a laugh. As he fumbled with tugging his new keys out of his pocket, she leaned against his doorway with a wry grin. “Any specific reason for that?”

“Uhm, no.” He made a small noise of success as he finally yanked the key ring free, and then noticed the pointed look she was giving him. A slight cough overtook him, and he turned to focus on getting the key into the lock. “Just in case. It’s needed. For anything.” Jemma hummed in response, waiting for him to swing the door open before reaching down to grab her book and following him inside. “How’d you get in here?” Fitz continued, swinging the door shut behind her. “Or figure out where my room is?” 

“I sweet-talked the resident life receptionist and convinced the RA to let me in.” She dropped down onto the unmade bed, somewhat dismayed to feel how flat the mattress was beneath her. It would likely make more sense for them to spend any private time in Fitz’s room, as his dormitory was clearly less strict about having members of the opposite sex visit, but this bed was going to make those nights a little less than ideal. If her memory served, this one was even less comfortable than the mattress he’d had at Koenig’s. “Wasn’t hard, really.”

Chuckling, he propped his hands backwards on his hips and shook his head. “You’re unstoppable, Simmons.” 

“Yeah,” she murmured in response, stepping back up into his space and gently framing his face with her hands, her fingers scratching across his overnight stubble. “We are.”

A breathless smile flashed across his face, and he dipped his head, breaking her gaze as if he couldn’t hold it any longer. “I can’t believe we actually did it. Stanford!”

She nodded enthusiastically and shuffled even closer, waiting for him to rest his hands on her waist. “Four whole years together. Think you’re ready for that kind of adventure, Fitz?”

“I cannot wait.” He grinned again and reached up to swipe a few loose strands of hair out of her face. “We’re gonna have the time of our lives.” 

Jemma laughed and arched an eyebrow. “You sound sure about that.” 

Shrugging, Fitz met her gaze as he spoke this time. “It’s the truth. S’long as I’m gonna be with you.”

Unable to rein in her excitement anymore, she stretched forward to fit their mouths together, which was only made mildly difficult by the enormous smile on her face as she did so. For all the difficulties that they’d had to undergo while apart for the past year, from the distance itself to fighting for her parents’ acceptance, she felt sure that they’d come out of it even stronger than before. At long last, Jemma and Fitz were about to set out together on the academic journey that they’d both always dreamed of, and she could not wait to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, my friends, on the last page - it's taken quite a while longer than I'd hoped to post this whole thing (which grew to be exponentially larger than I'd intended), but this is the end of it! I hope you've enjoyed it, gratuitous movie references and all! ;-)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my lifeblood, and subscribe to get an automatic update when I finally start posting the rest! :-)


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